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The 

Secret of an Empress 



BY 

Countess Zanardi Landi 
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With Fourteen Photogravure Illustrations 



New York 

Jean Wick 

1914 



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Copyright, 1914 
By JEAN WICK 



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PREFACE 

Two questions have often been asked me by people who 
have known part only of my life-story; and it seems to 
me that before I begin to tell the whole of that story I 
should do well to answer them. The first question is, 
Why did the Empress Elisabeth wish to bring me up as 
she did, away from the Court? The second is, Why does 
the Emperor Francis- Joseph refuse me recognition? 

Why, then, did the Empress bring me up as she did? 
It is, I suppose, fairly well known that the Court of 
Vienna is still under the rule of a code of etiquette which 
dates from the sixteenth century. But I doubt whether 
more than a very few outside the Court itself realise how 
crushing the code is. I shall have occasion later to refer 
to it in some detail, and shall here speak only of that por- 
tion of it which concerns the Empress's position. In Aus- 
tria the sovereign's wife is a person standing entirely by 
herself. The Emperor himself is above her, and she is 
not permitted to go to see him as she wishes. There are 
always the ceremonies of asking permission before a meet- 
ing, and of announcing the approach. All the rest of 
the Court is below the Empress, and not one of her rela- 
tives even may see her without obtaining leave some time 
beforehand, through the Grand Mistress or her deputy. 

This may not be considered a great hardship so far as 
ordinary relatives are concerned, nor indeed anything out 
of the way in a high rank of society. But, in so far as 
the rule applies to the intercourse of mother and child, it 
becomes tragic in its cruelty. Mere archdukes and arch- 
duchesses may associate freely with their children, who are 
of the same status as themselves. The Emperor and Em- 
press, on the other hand, are hedged round with restric- 
tions. This is not the case, so far as I am aware, in any 
other country than Austria, other empresses and queens 



having their children's apartments close to their own and 
spending hours with them daily. 

The Empress of Austria is constantly on a pedestal 
above the rest of the world, and her children are drilled 
to look upon her in that way. If she should wish to be 
present at their lessons, there is no such thing for her as 
going straight to the schoolroom. Her visit must be an- 
nounced twenty-four hours in advance, teacher and pupils 
are dressed for the occasion, questions and answers are 
prepared, and at the end of the visit her Imperial Majesty 
graciously expresses her satisfaction to the teacher. 

The Empress may not even select the persons who are 
to be about her children, nor the subjects which they are 
to be taught. She may never have a simple, informal 
meal with them nor indulge in a ramble with them out of 
doors. At all times they must remember that they are in 
the presence of the almost sacred person of the Empress. 
The inevitable result is that they are really hardly her 
children at all; neither has the natural affection of a child 
for its mother any opportunity for development. 

Maternal love being the deepest and most unselfish feel- 
ing in the world, the imposition of such restraints as these 
is a cruel outrage. There are some natures which can 
seek consolation in a frivolous and trivial life; others to 
which the mere dignity of rank is a solace ; and yet others 
(as is shown in the histoiy of many a hapless Empress of 
Austria) which can bow down and accept what appears to 
be a necessity. 

My mother, the Empress Elisabeth, belonged to none 
of these classes. She had an individuality in the fullest 
sense of the word. She wished to live her life in perfec- 
tion. The unnatural was as poison to her, the incomplete 
like a physical defect. In the artificiality of the existence 
forced upon her, and the impossibility of her accomplish- 
ing what she set her hand to, lay the whole tragedy of 
her soul. 

When she would have surrounded her children with her 
care and interest, they were torn away from her, one to 
be made wretched and finally destroyed, the others to be 



reduced to mediocrity. At last, finding how she had been 
deceived in her hopes about her fourth-born child, Marie- 
Valerie, she resolved that for once she would have her own 
way, and that at any rate one of her family should be as 
she had wished them all to be. 

That is why I was brought up as I was, away from the 
Court. 

There remains the other question: Why does the Em- 
peror Francis- Joseph refuse to recognise me? 

All I can say is that I do not believe that it is the Em- 
peror himself who refuses. It is the Court of Vienna 
which looks upon me as dangerous. Having been brought 
up by my mother in the free and broad-minded ideas of 
modern education, I must, I suppose, be regarded as a 
menace to the traditions of the Imperial House, and there- 
fore recognition must be absolutely denied me. 

The Emperor, I must point out, is by no means a free 
agent ; and least of all is he free to give scope to the kind- 
ness of heart which by nature he possesses. Since the 
days of his youth, when he was ruled by his mother, the 
Archduchess Sophia, he has been compelled to yield to the 
wishes or, I should rather say, the will of others, and has 
thereby more than once been robbed of his chances of hap- 
piness in life. 

To-day the Emperor Francis-Joseph is the saddest and 
most to be pitied figure in modern history through the 
tragedies which have befallen him. The hapless Maxi- 
milian of Mexico was the first victim, immolated by those 
who wished him away from his Imperial brother's side. 
The Crown Prince Rudolf was a second victim, under cir- 
cumstances I shall relate in the course of this book. My 
mother the Empress was a third victim, martyred because 
of the freedom of her ideas and her great love of Hun- 
gary. Of the recently murdered Archduke Franz-Ferdi- 
nand * and his consort, it is too early yet to speak with cer- 
tainty ; but the events connected with their burial are suffi- 

i The death of the Archduke Franz-Ferdinand, I may say, has changed the 
situation somewhat for me as well as for the others. Will those members 
of the family who are faithfully trying to help me succeed now in their en- 
deavours ? 



cient alone to give rise to suspicion of the most serious 
kind. 

And all the time the most unfortunate victim of all has 
been the Emperor Francis-Joseph, who has lived while 
others have died. 

Only quite recently I have been told that the Emperor 
shed tears when he learnt that he was not allowed to meet 
me and my two children. Of children he is very fond, and 
this in itself is a proof of a kind heart. As for myself, 
I can but wonder if it is my fate never to meet him. Who 
can tell? 

So my mother's determination to mould the character 
of at least one of her children involved that I should be 
born in obscurity. But that very obscurity was light to 
me. She taught me to realise the beauty of life, and that 
there is in life nothing so sorrowful, nothing so unfortu- 
nate that I should not be able to see the beautiful side of 
it. All such things are but incentives for us to strive to- 
ward perfection. The effect of her teaching upon me has 
been enduring. More and more every day I feel that in 
the extraordinary existence which has been mine there 
must be some definite purpose. The experiences through 
which I have gone, in the comparatively short space of 
thirty-two years, experiences sufficient for three lives of 
many people, must have been imposed upon me to enable 
me to accomplish a mission. And to open the way for my 
fulfilment of that mission I have now written this book. 

C. F. M. Zanardi Landi. 



VI 



THE SECRET OF AN EMPRESS 



CHAPTER I 

MY BIRTH 

I was born in 1882, at the chateau of Sassetot, near 
Petites-Dalles, in the department of Seine-Inferieure, 
Normandy. I have never seen the place again since my 
earliest days, and can give no description of it. With 
regard to the circumstances of my birth, naturally, the 
little that I know is learnt from others. I therefore give 
the details with all reserve, though I have endeavoured as 
far as possible to test their accuracy by comparison and 
inquiry. 

Semi-officially it was given out that my mother, the 
Empress of Austria, had met with an accident while out 
riding. The Emperor Francis-Joseph came secretly to 
see her, his presence in Normandy at the time being known 
at the Elysee but concealed carefully in all other quarters. 
My mother herself had been living at Petites-Dalles un- 
der her incognita of the Countess Hohenembs. What 
passed between her and the Emperor now will never be 
revealed. A few weeks later, when my mother was re- 
stored to health, I had to undertake a long journey — the 
first of the many long journeys which have been mine in 
this life. I travelled from Normandy to Vienna. 

Foremost in the party was Professor Karl Braun von 
Fernwald, my mother's physician, a stout friendly man, 
who had not only assisted to bring me into this world of 
sorrow, but had also undertaken the responsibility for all 
arrangements during the opening years of my life. Then 
there were the Countess Goess, one of my mother's most 

1 



intimate women-friends; Alois Pirker, who was to be for 
so many years to come my faithful head-servant; and 
finally, Theresa Schedivi, my nurse, a Bohemian by race. 

The first thing necessary for me in Vienna was a home. 
As it was my mother's intention to bring me up in perfect 
secrecy, but not to train me for a life of obscurity, when 
I should be grown up, the task was no easy one. She had 
particularly expressed her objection to putting me into 
some aristocratic family in Vienna having a footing at 
Court, for it would be impossible for such people to keep 
the secret to themselves. Moreover, the control of the 
clergy in those circles is complete, and it was her fixed in- 
tention that I should not be exposed to undue clerical in- 
fluence. Prominent Austrian families outside Vienna 
were also considered unsafe. The instructions given to 
Professor Braun had been short and unmistakable. I 
was to be placed with strangers in some well-educated, 
cultured, and refined family of standing in the place from 
which they came, but unknown in Vienna. 

So it came about that I was taken to the house of Mr. 
and Mrs. Kaiser, both great friends of Professor Braun, 
and especially the wife. The Kaisers moved in good cir- 
cles in Berlin, where the husband had been manager of the 
Deutsche Bank. But they were not known in Vienna 
when they arrived, and therefore answered my mother's 
requirements excellently well. It has occurred to me in 
later years that the name of Kaiser was in itself a lucky 
coincidence, for even did I overhear as a child such expres- 
sions as " Kaiserliche Mutter, Kaiserliches Kind" (Im- 
perial mother, Imperial child), they were nothing more to 
me, before I reached years of sufficient discretion to share 
the secret with her, than plays upon words, and gave no 
hint of my mother's exalted rank. 

It cannot have been an easy task to introduce my infant 
person into the Kaiser household, and quite a comedy 
seems to have been played for the purpose. After due 
preparations, Mrs. Kaiser was suddenly taken ill. Her 
children had already been sent out with their French 
bonne. The servants were now all hurriedly despatched 



on various missions — one to fetch the midwife, who lived 
at a distance, another for Professor Braun, and yet an- 
other for Mr. Kaiser, who " very unfortunately " hap- 
pened to be out at the time. Imagine the amazement of 
the whole household, when at length they returned, to hear 
that in the meanwhile poor Mrs. Kaiser had given birth to 
a little girl, only the nurse, that clever Theresa Schedivi, 
having been present at the important moment! 
In this way I was born a second time. 

My earliest recollections of childhood are bright and 
fair. I lived with my foster-parents in a fine suite of 
rooms at No. 5, Opernring, near the Imperial Opera 
House. On the first floor was the business of Frau Caro- 
line Brayer, my mother's dressmaker. The suite above 
had been expressly taken to enable my mother to come to 
see me without difficulty or suspicion. It was at the time 
one of the finest suites of its kind in Vienna. To those 
unacquainted with the city it may appear strange that 
fine rooms like these should be located over a dressmaker's 
establishment, but Vienna is an exceptional place in this 
respect. It has no particular residential quarter, no par- 
ticular business centre, no special characteristics in its dif- 
ferent parts. One wealthy man, for instance, might live 
in Section No. 3, and his equally wealthy friend in Section 
No. 18, at the other end of the city; and a foreigner com- 
ing to Vienna on business might have three addresses at 
which to call, one in the third, another in the sixth, and 
another in the eleventh section, so that he would have to 
take half a day over what in London or New York would 
take him half an hour. 

Everybody in the home in the Opernring was kind and 
good to me, and I was surrounded by all that the heart 
of a child could desire. Certainly no child living could 
have had a larger and pleasanter nursery than I had, nor 
more beautiful dolls and amusing toys. And if I broke 
my toys or ill-treated my dolls, no one grumbled at me for 
doing so. Nor yet was I elaborately dressed or annoyed 
with a multiplicity of frills and ribbons, such as vex the 



souls and bodies of some little unfortunates and put them 
in perpetual terror of " spoiling their clothes." There 
was nothing to be spoilt about my plain little white frocks. 

Sometimes, however, I was dressed up in more than 
usual splendour. Then I always knew that I was going 
to see that day a beautiful, tall lady. I was very shy in 
the presence of this lady, although she kissed and caressed 
me again and again when she paid her visits to us. 

Although Mrs. Kaiser was tall and elegant, the visitor 
appeared even more so, probably because she was slimmer. 
Her voice was low and melodious, giving to me at 
least the impression that she could never be cross or angry 
or unkind. Somehow this only made me the more timid. 
The lady also seemed rather embarrassed, as though she 
were at a loss what to say to the child whom she only saw 
at infrequent intervals. Another thing which contributed 
to my feeling of awe was the very profound bow with 
which Mrs. Kaiser always received the lady, for she was 
not one who usually put herself out, and at all other times 
was herself the person who received the most respect in 
the whole household. 

All that I have told hitherto concerning my personal 
recollections is hazy and indefinite in my mind. I move in 
memory like a traveller making his way through a dark 
and heavy night. I have to rack my brain to seize upon 
anything vivid enough to be put into words. But now 
events begin to grow more distinct. My road lies before 
me with increasing clearness to the end — to that sad end 
of another's life, which brought such sorrow upon mine and 
left me to face the world all alone. 

CHAPTER II 

SOME EARLY IMPRESSIONS 

In the authumn of 1888, when I was six years of age, I 
lived awhile (for the first time since my birth as far as I 
know) under the same roof as my mother. Although I 
was unaware of it at the time, the place in which we stayed 

4 



was the chateau of Lainz, originally a hunting-box in the 
neighbourhood of Vienna, which she had bought from its 
owner and transformed into a beautiful home for herself. 
On my arrival here my mother said to me: " Weiberl, 1 
now you are going to stay with mother for a time. You 
will love me very much, won't you, darling? " 

I did not understand, for up to then I had always 
called her Xante Elly (" Aunt Elly "), so I looked at her 
without speaking, my heart beating fast, and began to cry. 
My childish mind could not grasp the idea of having an- 
other mother besides Mrs. Kaiser, to whom I was then 
very attached, although she spent but little of her time 
with me or her own children. Perhaps, in a way, this 
was only an additional reason for my fondness. Anyhow, 
she often brought home boxes of sweets for us, and that, 
of course, is a ready road to a child's sympathy. 

My real mother, however, as now I learnt her to be, 
knew so well how to win my heart that I soon lost my 
shyness, and before many days had passed every other per- 
son was put quite in the background. And didn't I have 
a splendid time with her! Just imagine for a moment 
how delightful it was to sit on her lap every morning, while 
another lady, dressed in black silk and a white apron, stood 
for hours brushing and combing her beautiful hair. All 
the time she would enthral my soul with stories of Cin- 
derella, Little Hed Riding-hood, and the like. Still bet- 
ter did I love her singing, and how often would I beg, 
" Mummy, dear, sing me ' Wenn I komm, wenn I komm ' 
(' When I come ') ! " And when she had sung that twice 
or more, she must go on to something else, generally Schu- 
bert's " Lindenbaum," every shade and emotion of which 
was so faultlessly rendered that even I, small child as I 
was, was deeply moved. 

But so quick to change is the mind of children that, 
I remember, some article upon the dressing-table would 
suddenly attract my attention and grow infinitely desira- 
ble in my eyes — a small crystal bottle, it might be, a little 

i " Little woman." This is an affectionate diminutive used in Austria, and 
was my mother's most usual form of address to me. I have for that reason 
kept it untranslated in this book. 

5 



silver box, some exquisite toilet-tray; or perhaps only a 
flower in one of the ever-filled vases, a few violets or some 
rare mountain blossom. Then, without the slightest apol- 
ogy or excuse, I would slip off her knees and straightway 
go towards the object of my desire, sometimes so impa- 
tient that I would not wait till the song was finished. But 
my loving mother had nothing but smiles for this ill be- 
haviour, and would call me back and cover me with kisses. 
Neither did she become cross when one morning I spilled 
almost the entire contents of one of her perfume bottles, 
intending to put some on myself. And it was her favour- 
ite scent, too — expressly made up for her — a mixture 
of roses, violets, and amber. 

Every day we went out for a walk in the park. At that 
time I used to turn in my toes — a habit which was a 
source of much annoyance to my mother, who was a re- 
markable walker and famous for her elegant carriage. 
She would always be saying to me, " Come now; walk like 
a soldier! One, two; one, two." 

During this visit she also tried to teach me dancing, in 
the learning of which I displayed considerable aptitude, 
as I had not only a good ear for music but also took de- 
light in exercise. By her special order, when I returned 
to my foster-parents' home I received regular lessons from 
a Madame Crombe. 

In the winter after this visit an event took place which 
was the means of turning my growing love for my mother 
almost to veneration. It was a grey, foggy day in Jan- 
uary, 1889, about two o'clock in the afternoon. I had 
just finished dinner and was in the nursery with the nurse 
and Laura, my little foster-sister, who was the nearest in 
age to me of the Kaiser children. Probably we were 
dressing to go out; I do not remember distinctly. Sud- 
denly Mrs. Kaiser's maid rushed into the room. 

"The Crown Prince has been shot . . . killed!" she 
cried in a terrified voice. 

" Not killed," said the nurse incredulously. " You 
must mean wounded." 

The Crown Prince was so extremely popular, so be- 



loved by his subjects, that she could hardly credit the news 
of his death. 

" No, no; dead — quite dead," persisted the maid. 

These words impressed me as they would have done any 
other child. How could I have foreseen what in after 
years this would mean to me? After this, nothing more 
was said upon the subject to me for days. Had I not 
seen the black flags in the streets and the general mourn- 
ing, I should have forgotten all about it at once. 

But this was merely the preface to what was to come; 
and that I recall more clearly than anything else in child- 
hood. Several days afterwards my nurse dressed me in 
a white frock with a black cashmere sash. This struck me 
as a strange proceeding. The black sash oppressed and 
bewildered me, for I had never worn black before. In 
reply to my question why I must wear this I received the 
answer, " Don't you know everybody is in mourning for 
the Crown Prince? " 

When all were ready, I drove with my nurse and Pirker 
in a carriage to a great palace, which I afterwards learnt 
to be the Hofburg. Here we got out, and my nurse and 
I passed through a long white vestibule, carpeted with red 
velvet; then up a big marble staircase, through several 
large rooms, all richly furnished, coming finally to a draw- 
ing-room, where my nurse pushed me gently forward 
through the door. I thought her behind me still, but on 
turning my head found that I was alone and that the door 
had closed. I was dismayed at my loneliness in the 
strange room, but on recovering from the agitation of the 
first moments I perceived a dark figure lying on a sofa. 
How it startled me! Was this my mother, all in black 
clothes and looking as pale as wax? Her figure seemed 
shrunken to half its size, a shadow of her former self, al- 
most ghostlike. Never afterwards did I see her looking 
like that. She did not rise to greet me, as she ordinarily 
would have done, but held out her arms weakly and feebly 
to me. I felt that something terrible must have hap- 
pened, and in spite of my fright ran towards her, clasping 
my arms around her neck. What followed made an in- 

7 



eff aceable impression upon my mind. My poor mother hid 
her face upon my little shoulder, while for a moment her 
whole body quivered with heart-breaking sobs. They 
pierced my very soul, and caused me to remain perfectly 
silent, trembling with emotion. 

When at last she could control her voice, she begged 
me not to let anyone know, not to tell even the Kaisers, 
about her weeping like this. I did my best to comfort her, 
and she cried, in words that I remember so well, " Oh, you 
darling little woman, if I could only have you with me, it 
would be so much easier to bear! " 

Could I not come very often to see her? I asked. But 
she said she must go away again, for she was obliged to 
travel to Budapest. 

I would have loved to say, " Take me with you, mother," 
but I did not dare. 

A few days after this she came to see me at my guar- 
dians' home. She was still very pale and sad, but did not 
cry, and, young as I was, I could feel that her heart would 
have ached less if she only could have done so. 

Still another impression of this period remains in my 
mind. One night, about twelve o'clock, I was awakened 
by the sound of horse-hoofs in the street and an unusual 
stir in our house. I jumped out of bed and rushed to the 
window, where, spellbound, I watched mounted soldiers 
filing like phantoms before the house — their long black 
cloaks shrouding the horses and leaving little of the ani- 
mals visible but their feet. The gas-lamps in the streets 
had all had their tops removed, and with their torch-like 
flames illuminated in a most impressive, and really quite 
ghostly, way the sombre cavalcade. It was the escort 
bearing the body of the Crown Prince from Mayerling to 
Vienna. This apparition passed with extreme rapidity, 
and but for the vividness with which it was imprinted upon 
my memory, might have seemed but a dream of the night. 

For a long time after this I could not recover my child- 
ish cheerfulness. Although I told no one, at night I re- 
mained with wide-open eyes, staring into the darkness, 
while cold drops of perspiration covered my forehead. 

8 



These strange events completely confused my mind. The 
ghastly cavalcade haunted me. Why did mamma wear so 
much deeper mourning than " Mimeli " (this was the 
name I now called my foster-mother), who also wore 
black, like the rest of the people? Why was she so deeply 
grieved, while "Mimeli" was quite cheerful again? I 
could not fathom the mystery; yet, strange to say, I was 
perfectly convinced that my mother's sorrow could spring 
from no other source than the death of the Crown Prince. 
Of this I shall have more to say later. 

CHAPTER III 

A HOME OF MY OWN 

In the year whose early weeks witnessed the events de- 
scribed in the last chapter, a change was made in my sur- 
roundings, and my little household (if I may call it by 
such a name) was increased in size. First came the in- 
stallation of an English nurse, Miss Ives, who was also 
entrusted with the care of Laura Kaiser. Soon after the 
appointment, however, trouble arose. Miss Ives had oc- 
casion once to punish Laura for stamping her foot, which 
she did by striking the offender across the legs with a 
strap. Upon this Laura rebelled, biting Miss Ives se- 
verely on the hand. The English governess at once ten- 
dered her resignation. This was not accepted, for she 
was in possession of my mother's secret, and was, more- 
over, much trusted by her. Unfortunately for myself, 
as will be seen, I was of much less warlike a nature than 
my foster-sister, and so Miss Ives was prevailed upon to 
continue in charge of me, provided that Laura's nursery 
and mine were entirely separated. This gave my mother 
a long-desired opportunity of making an alteration in my 
place of residence, so as to bring me nearer to her. In the 
course of a few weeks I was taken away from the Kaisers' 
house and installed in a home of my own, with me going 
Miss Ives, a French governess called Mademoiselle Pidon, 
who had been engaged by Mrs. Kaiser to superintend my 

9 



education, Alois Pirker, and some women-servants. 

My new home was at Lainz, not then, as it is now, a 
suburb of Vienna. Here I had been before. But this 
time it was not in my mother's chateau that I lived. A 
house near by had been taken for me, a two-story building 
in the middle of a fine park, within whose bounds I took 
my walks. On the ground floor was the hall, a big sitting- 
room, a dining-room, a study for me, and a small drawing- 
room for my governess. On the first floor were the bed- 
rooms of my governess, my nurse, and Pirker; and my 
own bedroom, which, to my great vexation, was called the 
nursery. This was a huge, bright room, decorated en- 
tirely in white, the furniture as well as the walls, while over 
the floor extended a dark blue carpet. The atmosphere 
of the whole house was peculiar, arising partly, no doubt, 
from the absence of an effectionate personal presence in 
control, and partly from the fact that it was wholly a 
child's establishment. All provisions for comfort — nay, 
for luxury — were there ; but everything was subordinated 
to the ideas of discipline and instruction. In fact, it was 
a superior educational institution, not a home. The ac- 
tual mistress of all was Miss Ives, in spite of Mademoiselle 
Pidon, in spite of old Pirker. Mademoiselle willingly let 
Miss Ives have the reins of the whole household, for it 
meant to her relief from certain responsibilities and the 
lessening of a restraint which she was unwilling to endure. 
Pirker, the valet, on the other hand, gave a grudging con- 
sent, being sufficiently philosophical to know that a woman 
always has the last word. 

Under Miss Ives's rule I was forced to arise at 6.30 in 
the morning, winter or summer. She would come to the 
bed in which I slept, and, tearing off the coverings, would 
cry in her abrupt manner, " It's half -past six — get up ! " 
at the same time shaking me by the arm and giving me no 
opportunity to go to sleep again. Only half awake, I 
would creep to my prie-Dieu, and, kneeling mechanically 
before it, murmur my morning prayers. Her regime was 
probably designed for my good, but I certainly did not 
appreciate it then. Her method of punishment showed 

10 



to my childish mind a refinement of cruelty. I was com- 
pelled to be present at the selection and purchase of the 
whips which were afterwards to be used on me. I can see 
now that it was not intentional cruelty, but she had been 
trained in a school where implicit obedience was exacted, 
and where the slightest lapse was severely punished. 
Hence she could never see that a rule might sometimes be 
relaxed with advantage. So I lived in daily fear. Never 
did I dare to tell anyone of my sufferings, being afraid of 
further punishment, and thinking, in n^ childish foolish- 
ness, that my mother both knew and approved of the meth- 
ods employed. Far from intervening, Mademoiselle fre- 
quently seconded Miss Ives. Thus my share of correction 
was doubled. I was punished not only when Miss Ives 
found me in fault, but also when Mademoiselle reported 
to her some childish misdemeanour. In fact, my French 
governess was by far the more culpable, being lazjr as well 
as deceitful. While in the absence of my mother and 
foster-parents she had not a kind word for me, in their 
presence she would show the utmost solicitude for my wel- 
fare. This, coupled with the natural deference and re- 
serve of Miss Ives, combined to give those who were pri- 
marily interested in my training, and especially my 
mother, a totally wrong impression of the discipline to 
which I was subjected. The servants, including Pirker, 
dared not lift a voice in my favour, Miss Ives being all- 
powerful. 

My mother had expressed the desire that my education 
should be both comprehensive and systematic. To this 
end I was placed under the care of Herr Hans Hold, 
Laura's tutor. As it was considered inadvisable that he 
should visit me in my own establishment, I drove three 
times a week in my carriage, accompanied by Pirker, to 
the home of the Kaisers. Here I was supposed to spend 
two hours receiving lessons in the elementary subjects. 
But my actual instruction under this otherwise estimable 
teacher failed utterly to meet my mother's orders. Herr 
Hold gave me long exercises without bestowing much at- 
tention to their explanation. Many subjects were en- 

11 



tirely neglected. For example, he taught me arithmetic 
for months and months, until suddenly it dawned upon 
him that grammar had not been touched, when he entirely 
abandoned arithmetic and devoted his time to grammar. 
This is typical of his educational methods. Laura Kais- 
er's presence, too, was a considerable handicap. She 
often failed to prepare her lessons. On such occasions 
she would say to her mother, " Oh, mother, do bring in 
something nice for Herr Hold to-day, so that he will not 
scold me for not doing my work! " And the indulgent 
Mrs. Kaiser would always enter the room, soon after the 
tutor's arrival, with a silver tray of cakes and liqueurs, and 
would stay chatting with him for a time, so that Laura 
might escape the penalty of her neglect of work. 

In addition to Herr Hold as a tutor, I had Father Lam- 
bertus, a Jesuit, for religious instruction, and for the 
piano Frau Louise Hoffmann, professor at the Vienna 
Conservatorium. 

On the whole, my life at this period was monotonous 
and lonely. I never met any children besides Laura, ex- 
cept sometimes in the spring, when I went with her and 
her governness to the Volksgarten and played there for 
a few hours with other little girls. It happened that we 
met there several times Julie and Marie, the daughters 
of Prince Montenuovo, 1 who were about our own age. 
As soon as my mother heard of this new acquaintance, 
however, she put an end to it, forbidding all further inter- 
course for fear of gossip. 

My summers still continued, after the setting-up of my 
establishment at Lainz, to be spent in the company of my 
foster-parents. My nurse and governess were then away 
on their holidays, and in consequence life was much pleas- 
anter for me. 

i Alfred, Prince of Montenuovo, now Chief Grand Chamberlain of the Im- 
perial Court. He is the grandson of the Archduchess Marie-Louise by Adam, 
Count Neipperg. Their son, William-Adalbert, was created Prince of Monte- 
nuovo in 1864 and married a daughter of Count Batthyany. The Neippergs 
do not recognise the Montenuovos as a branch of ftheir family, not being 
proud of the connection between Count Adam and Marie-Louise during the 
life of the Emperor Napoleon. 

12 



CHAPTER IV 

MY MOTHER IS THE EMPRESS 

It was when I was about nine years of age that the 
strangeness of my position began to impress itself upon 
me with an insistency that was not far from a pain. The 
problems that presented themselves to my undeveloped 
mind were terribly baffling — the fact that I had two 
mothers and two homes, the long absences of her whom I 
knew to be my real mother, the secrecy of her comings 
and goings, the deference shown to her by Mrs. Kaiser, 
the profound respect of all my household for her, my own 
secluded life. What did all these things mean? 

Again, why must I not tell people that my beautiful, 
adorable mother was really my mother? Why must I 
always say that " Mimeli " was my mother? Certainly 
I was very fond of " Mimeli," but it was with an affection 
that was being rapidly obscured by the ever-growing love 
— or rather worship — for the real mother whom now I 
saw so seldom. These questions haunted my waking 
hours with increasing persistence, and resulted eventually 
in a chronic state of mental unrest for me. " Whom can 
I ask to explain things to me? " I was always demanding 
of myself. I did not dare to ask any of the members 
of the little household at Lainz, and besides these, who was 
there who could inform me? Not Laura, for she knew 
no more than myself. Not her mother, who would cer- 
tainly have evaded the question or prevaricated. 

There was my beloved mother, my own real mother, 
to whom I longed to unburden my heart. She was the 
one who must be able to set all my doubts at rest. How 
I thirsted to ask her to explain everything to me — to tell 
me why I could not always be at her side. But the fear 
of making her sad tied my tongue whenever I was near 
her. During her absence I fully made up my mind to 
question her; as soon as she came back it was always the 
same — I dared not speak. Even on her return from 
Egypt, in the latter part of November, 1891, after an 

13 



unusually prolonged absence, I could not find courage to 
put questions to her. So the golden opportunity passed 
once more, and my problems were still unsolved. But 
now, soon after this, a train of incidents occurred which 
braced up nry resolution and determined me to beg for 
the truth from my mother, even at the expense of her 
feelings. 

I had always been accustomed to spend my Christmas 
holidays at the home of my foster-parents, and to receive 
my presents there. In this year 1891, however, for the 
first time in my life, mother had a Christmas tree for me 
in my own home; but on the twenty-third, not on the 
twenty-fourth, as is customary in Austria. At the light- 
ing up of the tree only Laura and myself were present 
with my mother. Needless to say, our gifts were very 
splendid. In spite of this, the celebration troubled my 
mind and increased my suspicions. Why had our Christ- 
mas been celebrated a day in advance instead of on the 
twenty- fourth, like all other people's? The fact that only 
Laura and myself were present, instead of the whole 
household, did not tend to allay my curiosity. My final 
feeling was one of disappointment. 

Of course, it is quite clear, really, why my mother 
moved the festival forward one day. It would have been 
impossible for her to absent herself from the Court on 
this evening of universal celebration, when the kindred 
of the Emperor, consisting of my sister Marie-Valerie 
and her husband the Archduke Francis-Salvator, the 
widow of the Crown Prince and his little daughter Elisa- 
beth, and other members of the Imperial Family assem- 
bled at Schonbrunn, the summer castle of the Emperor. 
Moreover, it was my mother's own birthday, which natur- 
ally made her the central figure of the festivities. 

Mother's long-continued absence after the Christmas 
tree at Lainz, coupled with my intense desire to speak to 
her, made me keep asking the time of her return. I knew 
she was in Vienna, for otherwise she would not have 
failed to bid me good-bye. My unceasing requests finally 
led Mademoiselle to tell me that she was ill, and could not 

14 



come to see me. Then, of course, I wanted to go to her. 
Upon this Mademoiselle only scolded, telling me not to 
make such a silly and impossible request. On my de- 
manding to know why it was impossible, she ordered me 
not to worry her. Naturally I was desperate, but 
through fear of punishment I kept silence thereafter. I 
learned in later years that what had happened was this. 
First, mother herself was ill and was confined to her bed 
for nearly a month. Then my sister Marie-Valerie, al- 
most immediately after the birth of her first child, had a 
bad attack of pneumonia. As soon as mother was able 
to go out again she came to see me, but owing to her 
anxiety about my sister her visits were very short ones. 
What little time she had to spare was not, as usually 
before, spent alone with me but in the presence of my 
nurse and governess, so that private conversation was 
impossible. The whole month of February passed in this 
unsatisfactory fashion. On March 1st mother set out in 
her yacht for Corfu ; and I, none the wiser, was again left 
alone. 

For a while my mind was more than ever in a state of 
confusion and perplexity. Then the unexpected hap- 
pened. The thoughtless words of a couple of servants, 
overheard by accident, revealed the mystery to me with 
startling clearness. Does chance actually help us some- 
times when we are in distress, or is it we who seek chance? 
The latter is more probable, for we take notice of inci- 
dents which before escaped our observation. Perhaps 
rather by instinct than of set intention, I listened more to 
what was spoken around me. Now it happened that my 
photograph had been taken a short time previously, and a 
copy of it stood on my governess's writing-table, in the 
drawing-room adjoining my study. I was sitting as 
usual one morning, when a few words from the other room 
caught my ear — and all of a sudden my attention was 
enchained. The voices were those of my nurse, Miss Ives, 
and of an old servant Pepi, who was sweeping out the 
room. As the door was ajar, I could hear every word dis- 
tinctly. 

15 



" Oh, miss, isn't it a nice photo of our little Princess? " 

"Princess! What Princess? What do you mean by 
using such a title? " 

" Now, miss," replied the old servant's slow, drawling 
voice, " do you take me for a fool? Do you think I don't 
know that she has a right to it? She is a ' Kaiserliches 
Kind ' (Imperial child), and I consider it a cruel shame 
to keep anyone's rights away from them." 

It really must have been a great effort for Miss Ives 
to refrain from raising her voice to the pitch customary 
with her in moments of extreme agitation or excitement. 
But she simply said : " Sh — sh ! stop that nonsense ! It 
is none of your business. You will bring trouble and 
disgrace upon us all." 

The old woman, however, was obstinate and garrulous. 
She would not hold her tongue. She was neither a fool, 
she protested, nor one of those interested people who were 
always in terror of losing a good job. But she had too 
much love and veneration for the good Empress to wish 
to bring harm upon her. 

"Be quiet — I insist upon it!" cried Miss Ives sud- 
denly; and, without giving the other a chance of further 
words, she hurried out of the room. 

My brain was in a perfect whirl. There was a roaring 
in my ears like the pounding of the surf upon the shore. 
Incredulity, amazement, and a realisation of the truth 
succeeded one another in my mind in great waves, as the 
full force of what I had overheard burst upon me. Then 
came a feeling of pure, intense joy, such as I have never 
experienced before or since. Now I understood every- 
thing — or, at least, at that moment I thought I under- 
stood everything. A thousand impressions passed 
through my mind. So then, really, my beloved mother 
was the Empress, and I was her child. And, of course, 
if my mother was the Empress, my father must be the 
Emperor. Why had I never seen him? What was the 
meaning of all this secrecy? If my parents were the Em- 
peror and the Empress, I must be a princess. How 
funny — la princess ! I had imagined a princess to be a 

16 



very different kind of a person from what I was. 

Day after day passed after this without my being able 
to answer satisfactorily the accumulating questions. I 
always returned finally to the same conclusion : that to my 
mother, and to her alone, must I talk about this. But she 
was still in Corfu, and I was obliged to wait patiently for 
her return. But, as everything comes to one who waits, 
so at last the long-looked- for day arrived in May, 1892. 

She seemed to me, if possible, even lovelier than before. 
I did what I had never ventured to do hitherto, and 
threw both my arms spontaneously about her neck, as if 
to assure myself that I really had the right to this privi- 
lege. On her side it seemed to make her happy that I had 
at last overcome all my shyness in her presence. After 
our first tender greetings, she seated herself in an arm- 
chair in the large drawing-room, while I took a footstool 
at her feet. Full of anxious questioning, I looked deep 
into her eyes, while my heart beat so hard that it seemed 
almost to suffocate me. I did not know how to begin. 
At last, with a great effort, I forced out a few words — 
something like this, " Oh, mamma dear, I do love you so 
much! " 

She did not fail to notice my extraordinary embar- 
rassment, and grew alarmed. " Weiberl darling," she 
asked, " what is the matter? Why are you trembling like 
this?" 

The excitement was too much for me. I forgot all the 
resolutions I had made to keep calm, and burst into tears, 
though I could have given no reason for those tears. 
In a few moments I regained my self-control and raised 
my head. Only then did I notice how deathly pale my 
mother was, and how vainly she tried to conceal her agita- 
tion with a smile. She urged me that she, my mother, was 
the last person in the world of whom I ought to feel afraid ; 
and as she spoke her sweet voice had a magical effect upon 
me. Slowly I began to tell her how I had been tortured 
by doubts for months past, and how, as my perplexity in- 
creased, I became more and more convinced that the only 
way was to talk to her. 

17 



Here, I suppose, I hesitated; but my mother divined 
the rest. She knew that I had found out who she was. 
So without further difficulty I was able to tell her how 
unexpectedly the truth had been revealed. But unfor- 
tunately her time was so limited that all too soon she rose 
to go. Bidding me an even more affectionate good-bye 
than usual, she departed, promising to come again to see 
me the following week. 

As she went out, it is probable that she rebuked my 
governess and nurse for having failed to gain my confi- 
dence; for about half an hour after her departure both 
rushed into the study. " Ah! petite miserable! " screamed 
Mademoiselle, stepping towards me, " we will teach you 
to listen at the doors and gossip afterwards ! " 

Too much astonished to move, I stood staring at them, 
knowing myself innocent of having done them any harm. 
But before I could recover from my amazement, both 
women threw themselves on me like two furies, and 
punished me unmercifully. They were two grown-ups 
against one child, and for the time being I could do noth- 
ing but submit. 

To the great surprise of myself and the household, on 
the following day mother came again quite unexpectedly. 
This had been made possible by the postponement for a 
week of a proposed visit from my sister Gisela, with her 
two daughters from Munich. Immediately upon her ar- 
rival she rushed into my study, instead of waiting, as had 
hitherto been her custom, for me to come to her in the 
drawing-room. The result of my punishment on the 
previous day was that I certainly could not walk with the 
ordinary ease and activity of a child. She noticed at once, 
and cried in alarm, " Whatever is the matter with you? " 
My answer was to kiss her hands, and seeing now that 
I was going to be avenged on my tormentors, I smiled, 
in spite of my pain. I told her of the cruelties which my 
nurse and governess had inflicted upon me, and how I 
foolishly had thought until now that she would not be 
angry with them about it. She listened indignantly, say- 
ing that now she understood why I had always been so 

18 



reserved and nervous in her presence. She made me de- 
scribe to her everything, and as she heard the details of my 
misery, physical and mental, during the past years, she 
hid her face in her hands. " Oh, what did I intend to 
do," she moaned, " and what have I succeeded in doing up 
to now? " 

Of the conversation which followed I cannot, of course, 
assert that I am able to give the exact words. But it was 
the longest and most impressive conversation which up 
to this time I had ever had with my mother, and much of 
it seems even now fixed in my memory. It gave a direc- 
tion to my steps, a mould to my character, so that I have 
indeed reason to remember it. With the infinite gentle- 
ness and sweetness that were all her own, my mother 
gave me to understand that from now onwards she wished 
us to work hand in hand. Her desire was to make a cap- 
able woman of me, a person who could accomplish some- 
thing, not a mere useless doll. She aroused, as she spoke, 
the thoughts which up to then had only hazily crossed 
and recrossed my brain. Suddenly I realised why I had 
felt so much pleasure in learning that I was the daughter 
of an Empress : that it was not out of idle vanity, but be- 
cause I saw that my exalted position would help me to 
do good in the world. The offer to work hand in hand 
with me made me truly proud and happy. The melan- 
choly life which I had been forced to lead had matured my 
mind out of due season. Thus the words with which I 
answered were perfectly sincere, which is doubtless the 
reason why they have not faded from my recollection. 

' You will lead me, mamma, won't you? I will follow 
you, as if blindfolded, every step of the way. If some- 
times I fail, spur me on by reminding me of the promise 
which I have given you to-day." 

At these words my mother's face lighted up with joy. 

' You have given me to-day," she said, " the first real 

pleasure I have felt for many years, and now I believe 

that some Power above must have suggested my course 

of action to me." 

I did not understand, and my eyes looked a mute in- 

19 



quiry. 

" Are you not curious to know why I keep you here all 
alone? " she asked. 

I was to learn so much that I wanted to learn, and the 
thought gave me courage indeed. I broke out into eager 
questionings. Why was there all this secrecy? Had I 
any brothers and sisters? Why was I not with them? 
Why was I brought up in this solitary fashion? 

At this flood of queries my mother grew first red and 
then pale. She answered somewhat sadly: "That, 
darling, is a sad story which at present you are almost too 
young to hear. But I will tell you as much of it as I 
can now." And then she explained to me for the first 
time why she had kept me hidden away from nearly all 
the world. She had married when she was very young — 
only a little more than sixteen years old. When her first 
little baby was born they had taken it away from her, say- 
ing that she was not old enough to take care of it herself. 
This was my eldest sister, Sophie, who died when she was 
only two years old. Another little girl, Gisela, was born, 
and then a little boy. These two children they also took 
away from her. 

Many years passed, and then came yet another girl, 
Valerie. This time, perhaps because she was now older, 
they had given her permission to take the child's education 
into her own hands, and she felt very happy. Valerie 
was a dear, intelligent little creature, and she conceived 
great hopes about her. But gradually the realisation 
dawned upon her that her independence in the matter of 
even this child's education was only a pretended one. She 
had not really the right of choosing those whom she wished 
to have about Valerie, but was restricted to a selection 
from among the names on a list submitted to her. 

Even this might have been endured, had she not been 
forced to come to the conclusion that any girl brought 
up in the uniform, systematic manner of the arch- 
duchesses of the Imperial family could never become any 
other than a common, everyday princess, with no exper- 
ience of real life, no breadth of views, no deep feelings, and 

20 



with a more or less selfish heart. Once more she was bit- 
terly disappointed. " Then other years passed," she said, 
" and you came." 

She remained silent for some moments. Then in the 
quick, impatient manner so characteristic of her, she con- 
tinued: " This time I did not intend to be made their 
dupe ! " She drew me towards her and whispered eagerly : 
" You were to be my vengeance for all the wrongs which 
they had inflicted upon me. I wanted you entirely for 
my own, not with a selfish mother's love, but that I might 
preserve you from the useless and dangerous life of 
Courts, because I did not wish you to be an empty-headed, 
empty-hearted princess. Never forget this, that I want 
one day to show the world through you that to be born a 
princess does not only bring with it the privilege of being 
flattered by a vain crowd of courtiers, but brings, too, the 
necessity of carrying a heavy burden and the ability to 
carry it." 

With these words she rose from her seat, and so did I. 
Putting her arm around my shoulders, she made me take 
a few turns up and down the room. Suddenly she 
stopped, and in a very serious voice begged me to keep all 
that we had discussed together a secret between ourselves 
alone. And whatever we might talk of together in the 
future I must always remember to keep to myself, unless 
I had special permission from her to mention it to others. 
If I forgot this, I might inflict upon her the most cruel 
sufferings. 

Our conversation had lasted for a long time, during 
which I had entirely forgotten my surroundings. My 
mother called me back to the world by saying: 

" Now we must finish the business here. You are a 
clever girl, so you can drive alone with Pirker to the Kais- 
ers. And you will tell Mrs. Kaiser that Mademoiselle 
and your nurse beat you so cruelly last night that 
you are still suffering from the effects. Tell her that yes- 
terday we had talked together longer than usual, and that 
they suspected you had at last told me all about their ill- 
treatment of you; that to-day my unexpected visit was 

21 



the real cause of my learning all about it. Tell her that 
they are to keep you until further orders from me. 
Neither Mademoiselle nor Miss Ives are to be admitted 
to their house. I will send them full instructions, at latest 
by to-morrow night." 

As soon as my mother had left me — which was almost 
immediately — the maid put a few things in a valise for 
me, and together with Pirker we drove to my guardians' 
house. What happened to my two tormentors I do not 
know. I never saw either of them again. 

CHAPTER V 

ELISABETH OF AUSTRIA 

At this point in my story it seems a fitting opportunity 
to turn aside from the direct narrative and devote a few 
pages to that sweet and gracious woman to whom I owe 
my birth, my upbringing and most of the happiest mem- 
ories of my life. Much has been written about the Em- 
press Elisabeth of Austria since the fatal day in Septem- 
ber, 1898, when the assassin's hand struck her down — 
much that is foolish, much that is malicious, and more still 
that is false. For the most part the inventions of the 
various writers have gone without challenge; or if they 
have been challenged the world has been as careless as it 
usually is in such matters, and falsehood has continued 
to spread its poison nevertheless. I wish in this book, to 
the best of my poor ability, to vindicate my mother's name 
from the charges which malice or ignorance, or the two 
combined, have brought against her. If I can do so, I 
shall, I know, discharge but a minute portion of the debt 
which I owe her. But even that small payment will be a 
satisfaction to me. 

Elisabeth-Amalia-Eugenie was the second daughter 
and third child of Maximilian, Duke of Bavaria, and the 
Princess Ludovica, second daughter of King Maximilian 
(Joseph) I. of Bavaria. 1 By this marriage, the Royal 

1 The children of Duke Maximilian and his wife Ludovica were eight in 

22 



and ducal lines of the Wittelsbachs in Bavaria were re- 
united, having separated in the seventeenth century — the 
Royal house springing from Christian II., Count Pala- 
tine, and the ducal house from his younger brother, Jo- 
hann-Karl, Count Palatine. As is probably well known, 
the Wittelsbachs are a noble family of great antiquity. 
They trace themselves back to an ancestor in the tenth 
century, though the royalty of their senior branch dates 
only from the time of Napoleon, who rewarded his ally 
Duke Maximilian- Joseph by making him King Maximil- 
ian I. of Bavaria. 

Much has been written about the Wittelsbach family, 
their degeneracy and eccentricity, and the story of their 
later representatives has been used to point a moral as to 
the evil of consanguineous marriages. But it seems to me 
that the talk about " inbreeding " is a very great exag- 
geration; for a study of the family tree does not bear it 
out in the Royal House, and the ducal line, which shows 
a certain amount of inbreeding (if we include a reunion of 
blood after two centuries ) , is not that which is open to the 
charge of insanity. As for the madness upon the throne, 
what warrant at all is there for the statement that Maxi- 
milian II., father of Ludwig and Otto, and uncle of the 
present King, showed symptoms of a mental breakdown 
at the end of his life? On the contrary, he died in full 
possession of his faculties, and left behind the reputation 
of a good and kind ruler. Concerning Ludwig II. my 
readers will hear in a later chapter my mother's firm con- 
viction of his sanity, so that I will say no more here. 
There remains the unhappy Otto, whose nominal reign 

number: (1) Ludwig (born 1831), wbo renounced his rights to the succession 
in March, 1859, and two months later married morganatically the actress 
Henrietta Mendel, created Baroness Wallersee, by whom he was the father 
of the present Countess Marie Larisch; (2) Helene (born 1834), who mar- 
ried the Prince of Thurn and Taxis; (3) Elisabeth (1837); (4) Karl-Theo- 
dor (1839), who married the Infanta Marie-Jose of Portugal, and was suc- 
ceeded on his death in 1909 by his son Ludwig-Wilhelm, the present head 
of the ducal line in Bavaria; (5) Marie-Sophia (1841), who married Fran- 
cis, Duke of Calabria, later King Francis II. of Naples and Sicily; (6) 
Mathilde (1843), who married Louis, Prince of Bourbon-Sicily, Count of 
Trani; (7) Sophie-Charlotte (1847), who married the Duke of Alencon; 
and (8) Maximilian-Emmanuel (1849), who married the Princess Amelie of 
Saxe-Coburg-Gotha and left at his death in 1893 three sons, all still living. 

23 



was brought to an end last year, but who still drags on a 
hopeless existence at Schloss Fiirstenried, near Munich. 
About him there is something that must be said, however 
painful it may be to say it. 

Queen Marie, the wife of Maximilian II., was brother's 
daughter to King Friedrich-Wilhelm III. of Prussia. 
She was therefore a Hohenzollern. Now it cannot be 
denied that there was a taint of madness in the Hohen- 
zollern family. Friedrich-Welhelm himself, husband of 
the celebrated Queen Louisa, was more than merely weak- 
minded as the charitable have represented him to be. One 
of his sons, Friedrich-Wilhelm IV., elder brother of the 
old Emperor William I., was undoubtedly mad. If in- 
sanity were transmitted to either of the offspring of Max- 
imilian II. and Marie, it came through the mother — not 
the father. Moreover, though the former Princess of 
Prussia figures in history as a Queen of Sorrows, she can- 
not be exonerated from being the cause of many of the 
sorrows, both to herself and to others. Her treatment of 
her sons was not good. In the case of Otto, born prema- 
turely at a time of great anxiety in Bavaria as elsewhere 
in Europe and for long not expected to live, brutality is 
not too strong a word to use of her conduct. She would 
punish him by striking him on the head, and it is said that 
one of the doctors who examined him later stated that he 
bore traces of a serious injury to his head in childhood. 
Be this as it may, she was not at all the kind of mother to 
look after such nervous, highly-strung boys as her sons 
were. 

It was not on the Wittelsbach side of the family that 
insanity came, I affirm. Among all the Royal houses of 
Europe the Wittelsbachs were pre-eminent for charm, 
kindliness of heart, and simplicity. They were affable 
and friendly to the humblest of their subjects. Now this 
is a trait which in rulers seems always to be regarded as a 
sign of weak-mindedness — by envious courtiers who see 
others of far inferior rank preferred to themselves. Talk 
is always spread of a taste for low society, and the virtue 
of simplicity is degraded into a vice. No better example 

24 



of this can be found than in the history of the Wittels- 
bachs. The few voices which have been uplifted in their 
defence have, I fear, failed to reach far, drowned by the 
chorus of those whom self-interest, servility, or mere mal- 
ice has inspired to slander and belittle them. 

My mother would often talk to me about my grand- 
parents on her side. The Duke Maximilian was a good- 
looking, easy-going, and broad-minded man. He was not 
deficient in artistic tastes, for he loved music, and could 
play the zither well. But perhaps it may be said of him, 
without injustice, that he was somewhat lacking in refine- 
ment. To a greater extent than his Royal kinsmen, ht 
liked the society of peasants better than that of courts 
He was devoted to horses and dogs, and was a tremendous 
walker, a trait which my mother inherited from him to the 
full. His wife has been misrepresented as bourgeoise, 
which she most certainly was not. The adjective might 
far more reasonably be applied to her husband. The 
Duchess Ludovica was compelled by circumstances — 
that is to say, by lack of money — to live a rather bour- 
geois life, but it was very much against her wishes. Like 
her sister, the masterful Archduchess Sophia, so many 
years the real ruler of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, 
Ludovica was a strict, narrow, and ambitious woman. But 
though she might scheme like Sophia, unlike her she had 
no scope for her scheming. Her husband's home in Ba- 
varia was a humble place compared with the Imperial pal- 
ace in Vienna. 

My mother was the pet of my grandfather, but did not 
find so much favour with my grandmother, whose idol was 
her eldest daughter Helene. Helene received all the 
training necessary for rank in life, while her junior was 
neglected, the Duke not troubling himself with such mat- 
ters as the education of his girls. It was a great grief 
to my mother as a child that she had no sister near to her- 
self in age; Helene was nearly four years older that she 
was. It was her brother, Karl-Theodor, two years 
younger, who, among all the family, was her greatest com- 
rade and playmate. In his company — herself more like 

25 



a boy than a girl then — they wandered through the 
woods of their summer home at Possenhof en, on the banks 
of the Lake of Starnberg, and paid visits to their friends 
among the peasantry. Curiously enough, in childhood 
she was not very good-looking, and as she had been a 
pretty baby, my grandfather used to repeat to her an old 
proverb, which admirably suited her case: " Schone Wie- 
gen Kinder, grobe Gassen Kinder, schone Leute " — lit- 
erally, " Fine cradle-children, rough street-children, fine 
(grown-up) people." 

Karl-Theodor was also my mother's comforter and her 
only companion when she was obliged to remain upstairs 
in her room while guests were being entertained below. 
If the opportunity offered, he would steal down to the 
kitchen or the pantry and forage for forbidden delicacies ; 
or perhaps one of the servants might bring ice-cream or 
some other dainty up to them that they might enjoy it 
together. 

The story of the romantic courtship of Elisabeth by the 
Emperor Francis-Joseph has often been told. I must 
say, however, that what my mother herself told me does 
not entirely bear out the ordinary version. Francis-Jo- 
seph, it is true, went to Possenhof en in 1853 to see his 
cousin Helene, being entirely under the influence of his 
mother, who had no doubt concerted a scheme with her 
sister for the marriage of their children. I know nothing 
of a meeting between him and my mother then, or of a 
formal proposal by him for her hand. It would rather 
seem that they met at I sen! in the summer of that year, 
when the ducal family went on a visit to their Imperial 
relatives, stopping at an hotel not far from the residence 
of the Emperor and his mother. A dance was given at 
the grand villa, to which Francis-Joseph insisted that 
Elisabeth should come as well as her elder sister. Here 
Elisabeth happened to please her aunt better than Helene 
did, and so, for once in a way, the Archduchess Sophia 
yielded to her son's wishes. Doubtless the Archduchess 
was influenced by another motive besides a preference for 
the younger girl's looks. She thought that her youth 

26 



would make her easier to manage than Helene, who, like 
the majority of her sisters, was of a very determined char- 
acter, and had reached an age when she made the fact 
plain. 

Mother often talked to me about her wedding, and how, 
in spite of her pleasure in making herself beautiful and 
being the centre of attraction, she still dreaded her newly- 
found greatness. Up to now she had always been kept in 
the background at home. Suddenly, at the age of only 
fifteen and a half, she found herself, as it were, in the full 
glare of the footlights. She had seen the Emperor but a 
few times before her engagement to him, and his passion 
quite carried her away. Her happiness on the day of her 
betrothal was something which she could not forget. And 
how proud she was when she had to attend with him the 
church at Ischl! — and even the mother of her fiance, until 
that day the first lady in the land, was obliged to yield 
precedence to her. The engagement was announced in 
the Wiener Zietung the same day. 

Yet with it this sudden greatness brought many trials 
for her. From the time of her betrothal in August to 
that of her marriage in April, 1854, was only eight months. 
In that short period she was called upon to perfect her- 
self in the knowledge of those social conventions which 
up to now she had so neglected. " I did not like it at all," 
she would say to me. " Up to this time I had worn short 
dresses and run about with the boys, just like one of them- 
selves ; and now, all of a sudg'en, I had to be a great lady! " 

The difficulty of her position was increased by the fact 
that my grandmother had wished Helene to occupy it, and 
had educated her with that end in view. Helene had 
overawed my mother with her knowledge ; she was versed 
in many matters of which, as my mother said, she herself 
knew only enough to disgrace her. The only things 
which she knew much about were walking, dancing, and 
riding. Because of the many deficiencies in her education, 
she was obliged to shelter herself behind a mask of digni- 
fied solemnity and coldness, which at first won her much 
admiration in Imperial circles. Unfortunately, accord- 

27 



\ 

ing to her own account, this was the only Imperial quality 
she had. The prevalent opinion was that she was beside 
herself with joy over her new-found magnificence — an 
opinion which was of equal perspicacity with the common 
estimate of her intellectual qualities. As a matter of fact, 
she was well able to appreciate the difficulties of her posi- 
tion. She confessed that her splendour was indeed a 
source of great pleasure to her, but this was never suffi- 
cient to counteract her constant anxiety. 

The actual day of her wedding, however, remained for 
my mother one of the happiest days of her life. The 
coronation ceremony in Hungary was more magnificent, 
but the wedding brought more happiness. It was one of 
the few occasions in her life when she could not deny that 
vanity mastered her. The more admiration her appear- 
ance caused, the greater was her joy. The train of her 
dress, borne by ladies of the Court, was so heavy that she 
could scarcely walk, yet that did not trouble her. Her 
toilet took hours ; but instead of this making her impatient, 
each additional article was the occasion of a new outburst 
of ecstasy. And the more those about her exclaimed, the 
prouder she felt. She really must have looked most en- 
chanting. I begged her once to give me a description of 
her wedding-dress, which she did. " My dress," she said, 
" was made of heavy white brocade, embroidered with gold 
and silver, as also was my court train. This train was fas- 
tened on my shoulders with diamond clasps. I wore on 
my head a wreath of myrtle and orange blossoms — flow- 
ers which also formed the trimming of my dress! and a 
diadem of diamonds, a gift from the Emperor's mother, 
which she herself had worn as a bride." 

She must, I repeat, have looked enchanting. Count- 
less brides are called beautiful upon their wedding-day; 
but my mother was not one of those who owe much to their 
dress. She was beyond dispute a beautiful woman. Her 
features were regular; her eyes of a curious, indefinite 
shade, which at some distance might be mistaken for dark 
blue, but at times showed a yellow, even golden, light ; her 
hair chestnut, in youth almost inclined to auburn, later in 

28 



life growing darker. In stature she was tall, with a 
charming figure. I always had the feeling with her that 
she was on horseback — such was the grace of her car- 
riage. Also, to put it another way, she was more really 
" swan-like " than anyone else whom it has been my lot to 
meet. 

In spite of her girlish slenderness, she had a slight ten- 
dency, perhaps, to grow stout. There are two strains of 
the Wittelsbach blood, the stout and the exceedingly 
meagre. My mother had a morbid fear of belonging to 
the former class. I would not deny that she might have 
become stout, had she not trained herself to keep thin. 
She certainly never was of the " skin-and-bones " figure 
like her brother Karl-Theodor, for instance, or my sister 
Valerie. She walked a great deal, which was beneficial to 
her general health. Other items in her system of training 
were no doubt too severe to be good for her — though she 
never really used to sleep, as has been alleged, with wet 
compresses round her waist to lessen its girth — and she 
maintained her slimness at some expense to her strength. 
Whenever her weight exceeded one hundred and twenty- 
five English pounds, she would deny herself for days any 
food except oranges. During these voluntary fasts, she 
drank nothing but an occasional glass of port wine when 
she felt weak or faint. As all the time she was keeping 
up her regular gymnastic exercises on the rings and par- 
allel bars, it will readily be understood that she laid a very 
severe tax upon herself. 

Yet in spite of this, it could not be said that she was 
exactly vain. If she would spend much time thus in train- 
ing her body, on the other hand she was never one of those 
women who waste a whole morning seeking for the pre- 
cise shade or colour which suits them best, and who must 
be up-to-date in dress or die. She did not run after fash- 
ions. Although she was always well dressed, she cared 
nothing for new gowns, and disliked especially to get her- 
self up for State occasions. She bought clothes largely 
to benefit the tradespeople and her own servants. Her 
special abomination was new shoes. She purchased these 

29 



in quantities, but wore the same pairs for months at a 
time, while the new ones were either given away or else 
sold by the servants without her knowledge or consent — 
a fact which sometimes led to amusing contretemps. On 
one occasion she asked that a new pair of shoes, which had 
very recently been ordered, should be brought to her. She 
waited some minutes, and still they did not come. Finally, 
turning to her woman of the bed-chamber, who had just 
returned after making inquiries into the cause of the de- 
lay, she broke into a laugh and exclaimed: " I should like 
to bet that I know what the matter is. My new shoes 
have gone where hundreds of other pairs of mine go. 
Never mind, bring the old ones, and order another new 
pair at once ; but tell the maker to be quick, as I want them 
as soon as possible." 

Mother, in fact, while appreciating her natural loveli- 
ness, disdained artificial means of heightening it. Even 
her hair, which was famous for its beauty, was arranged 
very plainly, without attention to the fashion of the day. 
The French word soignee conveys better than any other 
the impression which she gave to the beholder. Her chief 
vanity, I should say, was the desire to be individual, just 
herself, unlike anybody else; and in this she succeeded 
most admirably. 

To return to the position of affairs after the Imperial 
wedding. The Archduchess Sophia, it has been said, 
probably reconciled herself to the idea of having Elisa- 
beth, rather than Helene, for her daughter-in-law on ac- 
count of her youth. She felt at first considerable sym- 
patic for one upon whom she looked as a mere child. 
Soon, however, she began to find her a troublesome child, 
and to hate her for that youth which, expected to be an 
advantage, proved in reality to be a disadvantage from her 
point of view. My mother herself admitted afterwards 
(I mean to say that she admitted in talking to me) that 
her extreme youth at the time of her marriage made her 
more stubborn and unreasonable than she would have been 
had she been older — say twenty, like her sister Helene, 
for example. Yet she saw a certain justification for her 

30 



conduct then in the fact that the Archduchess Sophia was 
utterly heartless and treated her very badly. As an ex- 
ample of her tyranny I may mention the following story. 
My mother, with whom charity was a very genuine feel- 
ing, would have liked to visit regularly, but unofficially, 
the hospitals and other benevolent institutions, and as 
Empress she began to carry out her wishes. 

One day, as she returned from a hospital, she was met 
by the Archduchess, who asked her where she had been. 
On being told, she remonstrated strongly. Mother an- 
swered that she should go where she pleased, whereon the 
Archduchess went at once to the Emperor and com- 
plained of her behaviour. The upshot was that it was 
laid down that in future she must always get her hus- 
band's permission previous to going anywhere but certain 
prescribed places. For one who always took the unpleas- 
ant things in life so tragically as she did this was a cruel 
blow. 

The Archduchess set herself to alienate her son's heart 
from her daughter-in-law. This was particularly the case 
after the birth of the first two children, the short-lived 
Sophia, and Gisela. She told Francis-Joseph then that if 
he did not wish his wife to be his master, he must prevent 
her interfering in his affairs at all; and he took the ad- 
vice, with the result that an estrangement grew rapidly. 
I should say here, however, that my mother spoke to me 
very little about the Emperor. I did not understand why 
at the time, but I do now. 

Mother, it must be admitted, did not play her role at 
Court at all well. The stiffness, which at first won her 
praise there, was not an attitude which she could maintain 
without a great strain upon herself. In reality she was 
far too cheerful and natural for the grey old Court. Her 
timidity in such surroundings made her appear stiff, es- 
pecially on public occasions. The commonly held opin- 
ion that she was of a serious, indeed too serious, disposi- 
tion my mother denounced as an absolute falsehood. At 
the time when she became Empress she was the most high- 
spirited being imaginable, and as fond of fun as she could 

31 



be. But of course she could not give way to her inclina- 
tions in public. The pose of seriousness was forced upon 
her by the necessity of avoiding the appearance of child- 
ishness. Nor yet in private life, hedged round about as 
she was by the terrible etiquette of Imperial Vienna, was 
she allowed to be gay. If she tried to be so, she was com- 
pelled to listen to lectures upon her conduct. Yet even 
reproaches did not spoil her natural good humour; she 
was too young to be bad-tempered for long. 

As time passed, however, and the novelty of her posi- 
tion wore off, she grew very tired of the monotony of her 
life. In particular, she resented the ordeal of being con- 
stantly stared at, to which she was subjected in Vienna. 
The Viennese, in her opinion, were frightfully inquisitive 
and unrefined. 

I remember that I once asked her if the same was not 
the case all the world over where sovereigns and their sub- 
jects were concerned, and that she answered that she did 
not think so, for in other places people seemed to have 
more to do, and less time to devote to prying into the af- 
fairs of their neighbours. She compared the Hungarians 
very favourably with the Viennese. At Budapest she 
always felt that she was among friends. To illustrate the 
difference in the atmosphere she said to me : " As you 
know, I was always passionately fond of riding. In con- 
sequence, the loyal Hungarians gave me the title of 
' Queen of the Amazons.' With the Viennese, on the 
other hand, my nickname was ' The Circus Rider ' ! " I 
was silent, for I liked Vienna and its people — as I do 
still — and was sorry that they should make her feel like 
this about them. 

As is well known, my mother became a great student 
after her marriage. The Duke Maximilian, I have said, 
troubled little about her education before. But after- 
wards she discovered that she liked study, and devoted 
herself to it. She became a remarkable linguist. His- 
tory and poetry both attracted her strongly. It was a 
curious trait in her that, especially with regard to the 
poets, she preferred always reading the same authors and 



did not seek after new books. " I can always find some- 
thing new in the old ones," she would say. Her favourite 
poets were Heine and Shakespeare, for both of whom she 
had a sincere esteem. Of Shakespeare's works she loved 
Hamlet and King Lear the most. 

Among the teachers whom we kept at different times 
to instruct her, especially in Greek, two, both of them 
Greeks, have written books in which they have borne tes- 
timony to her abilities as a pupil. With regard to one of 
these, Christomanos, however, I feel it incumbent upon 
me to make a most emphatic protest against an insinua- 
tion which he has made. From his book one might gather 
that he was in love with the Empress who employed him, 
and that she reciprocated. Nothing could be further 
from the truth than the last suggestion. Dr. Christo- 
manos was an intelligent and interesting man, and she 
undoubtedly liked him for this. But, as for any stronger 
feeling, shall I be considered uncharitable if I ask how 
any man could be so vain as to imagine that she, with her 
passionate adoration for physical beauty, could be at- 
tracted by one who was almost a hunchback? I must 
confess to a feeling of great indignation that it should be 
necessary for me to write thus. 

Mother was very fond of music and played the piano 
well. She was a great admirer of Wagner, and on one 
occasion helped him with a present of twenty thousand 
florins. She paid a visit to Bayreuth, I can remember on 
one occasion, with the express purpose of hearing Parsifal; 
and Bayreuth then was not the goal of pilgrimages to such 
an extent as it has since become. 

She was naturally liberal-minded, and, as will have been 
gathered, anti-clerical. She has been accused of revolu- 
tionary, even anarchistic, sympathies. But in reality she 
was only very " modern." If she was revolutionary, it 
was in theory, not in practice. Although she rebelled 
against the restrictions of Court life, I very much doubt, 
whether, had she had the power, she would have swept 
them away. She was, indeed, too impatient to carry out 
such a reform. 



She was, it hardly need be said, of an extremely ro- 
mantic nature. Of her sisters, the Countess of Trani and 
the Duchess of Alencon were most like her in this ; but out 
of her whole family she was the least gifted with common 
sense. She thought herself, indeed, as is often the case 
with people of such character, very common-sense and 
logical, but she was far too much under the dominion of 
caprice to be the latter. Capriciousness, and not logic, is 
the mark of the romantic soul. And, of course, her sur- 
roundings conduced to the encouragement of her caprices. 
She was, if I may say so without appearing undaugh- 
terly, like a beautiful actress spoilt by the attentions show- 
ered upon her — though it is not the English word 
" spoilt," nor the French gdtee, which conveys my mean- 
ing so well as the German verzogen. 

Nothing is more unjust or untrue, however, than the 
accusation which some people (including more than one 
who ought to know better) have dared to bring against 
the Empress, that she allowed the attentions paid to her 
to turn her head to the extent of making her — shall I say 
— indiscret? Mother was of a very solitary nature, and 
liked few people, men or women, very much. She showed 
no preference for the companionship of one sex rather 
than the other. She might take an interest in a man, but 
it would not be as a man, but as a human character that he 
would be interesting to her. The man might misinterpret 
this interest, it is true; as, seemingly, in the case to which 
allusion has been made a few paragraphs earlier. That 
was not her fault. 

Toward people of unsympathetic disposition she was 
almost careless in her behaviour. This, I suppose, is what 
some have called her arrogance. As for her alleged 
cynicism, I can only conceive that it is her manner of 
speech which is alluded to. She had an original way of 
speaking, which was very humorous as coming from her, 
and perhaps could not be understood by the undiscerning. 

The eccentricity of behaviour which is imputed to her 
towards the end of her life is also a figment due to lack of 
understanding. Her impatience increased in later life, 

34 



but then she was very worried. I have no doubt that the 
one great cause of worry was the uncertainty of my own 
future. Her mother's heart foreboded the misfortunes 
which actually befell me after her death. But, anxious 
as she was, it is not true that she lost all her good spirits 
as she grew older. Nor is it true that the effect of the 
tragedy of Mayerling was that, in the conventional phrase, 
she never smiled again. I can remember that during our 
visit to the Riviera she went over to Monte Carlo and 
risked some money on the tables. She did not cease to 
take pleasure in going about incognita, and talking to 
people who never suspected who she was. She was, in- 
deed, the very reverse of the gloomy being, with suicidal 
tendencies, which some biographers have made her out. 
The famous detective Paoli, for instance, though in his 
Memoirs he has spoken of her with high admiration and 
esteem, totally misrepresents her in this respect. But 
then how could a man in his position, however eminent in 
his own particular line, be sufficiently intimate in his ac- 
quaintance with her to be able to read her heart? 

Evidences of her eccentricity have been found in her 
passions for building and for travel, of which much has 
been written that has little relation to fact. One would 
suppose, if one believed all one read, that she spent a great 
deal of her life out of Austria-Hungary. Really she went 
abroad only from December to March each year; and be- 
fore the death of the Crown Prince only from January to 
March. After the Mayerling tradgedy, it was but nat- 
ural that she should wish to avoid the gaieties of the first 
half of the Vienna season, and especially the Christmas 
festivities of the family which would never see him again. 
It is true that she always travelled about a good deal 
within the limits of Austria and Hungary, though why 
that should be considered a mania I do not understand. 

With regard to her building extravagances there has 
been gross exaggeration. Lainz was not a magnificent 
palace. The Achilleion, her villa at Corfu (now the prop- 
erty of the German Emperor, who has made of the temple 
attached to it a memorial chapel to my mother) , may truly 

35 



be called an extravagance. But it was her Italian archi- 
tect, Rafael Carito, the husband of a former lady-in-wait- 
ing to the Queen of Naples, who was responsible for the 
vast expenditure of money upon it. Mother had intended 
to have a small villa at Corfu, with beautiful gardens at- 
tached to it. The cost was not meant to exceed a million 
pounds in English money. Under Carito's direction it 
reached more than three times that sum, and the villa be- 
came a miniature palace of the most splendid description. 
The first time that the Empress set foot in it she ex- 
claimed: " I shall never be happy in such a place as this! " 

As a matter of fact, my mother knew nothing about the 
value of money, though it was a foible of hers to think that 
she did. She spent it, not because she loved spending, 
but because she never knew what she was spending. And, 
while she was being the most lavish, she might often at the 
same time make some small economy ; which proved better 
than anything else could her ignorance of values. 

I hope that I may have succeeded in giving of my 
mother some picture which does more justice to her as a 
woman — though the very word " woman " itself seems 
to misrepresent one who had so much of the spiritual, so 
little of the bodily — than the accounts of many who have 
taken upon themselves to write about her. What I am 
conscious that I have failed to convey is the unique charm 
which she had in her. But my pen could not accomplish 
that task, and it is wiser therefore to leave it unattempted. 
It was my privilege to live with her, if only at intervals, in 
an intimacy which she allowed to no one else in the world ; 
and for that very reason I cannot trust myself to speak. 
Out of the fulness of the heart the mouth is sometimes 
silent. We cannot adequately express that which we feel 
the most. 

CHAPTER VI 

FRAU VON FRIESE 

After the events narrated in the fourth chapter, ending 
in the summary dismissal of Miss Ives and Mademoiselle 

36 



Pidon, my mother spent much time and trouble searching 
for someone to whom she could safely entrust my educa- 
tion. During the months that she remained in Vienna 
before going to Carlsbad, she made many attempts to find 
a suitable governess for me. The task proved the more 
difficult because she wanted somebody who should stay 
with her for years and supervise my training through girl- 
hood, a person of good social status as well as of high in- 
telligence. Such a lady, if chosen from among Viennese 
residents, would be certain to be the cause of gossip and 
of awkward questions. The problem was the same that 
had existed when a home had to be found for me in in- 
fancy. The difficulty had been met by the choice of the 
Kaisers, on the recommendation of Professor Braun. 
Now the summer passed without bringing the required 
governess. 

During the summer months I stayed with Mr. and Mrs. 
Kaiser and their children at Voslau, where they were 
spending the holidays. One day in the autumn — to be 
precise, on October 26th, 1892 — my mother's private 
carriage called for me at my foster-parents' house, which 
was now in the Kantgasse, and in it I was driven to the 
Strohgasse in the neighbouring third section of Vienna. 
We stopped at the door of a small but elegant mansion, 
where I got down. On entering the house I found my- 
self in a marble hall, the floor covered with a soft, thick 
carpet. Passing through this and an antechamber, I was 
led into the drawing-room, where sat my mother and an- 
other lady. 

Mother greeted me with a kiss upon the forehead, as 
was her usual custom, and taking my hands in hers said: 
" Come and say How-do-you-do to this lady. She is a 
very kind and good friend of mine, and from now onward 
she is to be the third in our league." 

I looked shyly at the lady, of whom my first impres- 
sion was that she was rather imposing in appearance, so 
that I felt inclined to be afraid. While I was taking 
stock of her, my mother went on. I knew, she said, that 
she herself travelled about a great deal, and that it was 

37 



impossible for her always to have me with her. So Frau 
von Friese — the lady whom I saw — was going to do 
her the great kindness of taking me under her special care. 
She had just come to live in Vienna. She had no children 
of her own and felt very lonely, so she would look upon me 
almost as her own daughter. But I must know that it 
had taken some time to persuade Frau von Friese to ac- 
cept the responsibility, for she was afraid that a child of 
my age might have already become too independent for 
her to manage. 

At these last words my heart sank, and I hung my head. 
But now Frau von Friese spoke. " I am afraid your 
mother wishes to give you a better opinion of me than I 
deserve," she said with a silvery laugh, which seemed to 
come straight from the heart. At the sound of it I was at 
once impressed in her favour and all my fears vanished. 

" What your mother has told you of my ideas is quite 
true," she continued. " But what she perhaps does not 
know is that I have one corner in my heart that is kept 
specially for little girls, and where there is no room for 
anything else. All the same, I have some special pe- 
culiarities which may not be entirely to the liking of the 
little girls. When once I have come to the decision to 
educate one of them, I centre in her ambitions which I do 
not wish to see disappointed. This means, in a few words, 
that I expect strict obedience. If one is to get this one 
must begin early, or else the result is painful to both sides. 
But I am not one who likes to give pain, especially not to 
my little pupil, whose love I am anxious to win. I should 
give up my task at once if my care for her were only to 
result in grief to her." 

I besought my mother to tell Frau von Friese how I 
had been accustomed to show obedience, even to people 
who were not at all kind to me. She answered that Frau 
von Friese had already been told all about my late nurse 
and governess, and that it was what she had heard that 
decided her to undertake my education. She and my 
mother had so much the same views on such matters that 
they were sure to work together successfully. " And 

38 



you, darling, I know, will do your best," concluded my 
mother. 

Frau von Friese, with whom I was destined to spend so 
much of my time for years to come, was a Danish lady. 
At a first glance one could not fail to notice in her the pe- 
culiar characteristics of this race, which combines so ad- 
mirably French grace and vivacity with German simplic- 
ity and reserve. She was a real daughter of Copenhagen, 
tall and slim, with a typical Northern head, a long oval 
face, grey eyes, and dark hair. Every word and every 
movement snowed the grande dame. 

Six years after her marriage, Frau von Friese's hus- 
band died, leaving her childless, but with a fortune suffi- 
cient for her needs. She had a charming and well-culti- 
vated voice, and as a girl her ambition had been to become 
a professional singer ; but her family had opposed the idea 
so strongly that she was obliged to give it up. To fill the 
void left by her frustrated ambition, she had read very 
widely. To this she added the culture inseparable from a 
life of travel, to which her inquiring nature impelled her. 
Withal she was most womanly and sweet. 

It was while she was abroad that Frau von Friese met 
my mother, at Arcachon, in the summer of 1890. My 
mother was staying at Arcachon under the very unpre- 
tentious name of Madame Folna, from Corfu, and she re- 
mained unrecognised during her sojourn of a week, tak- 
ing the sea-baths. The two women were mutually at- 
tracted at their first meeting on the beach and forthwith 
entered into conversation, which informal acquaintance 
resulted in their spending most of the remainder of the 
week together. Though parting firm friends, they lost 
trace of each other until they met again unexpectedly at 
Carlsbad during the summer of 1892. Mother was there, 
this time quite officially — if one could ever use the word 
officially in connection with my mother — as the Empress 
of Austria, and while walking alone in the woods was so 
fortunate as to meet Frau von Friese, who though she 
had recognised in the streets of Carlsbad her friend from 
Arcachon, had not dared to call upon her. My mother, 

39 



on the contrary, was quite in ignorance of the other's pres- 
ence at the baths, and was delighted as well as surprised 
at the meeting. 

"Dear Frau von Friese, are you here? This is a real 
pleasure! I have often wondered what had become of 
you," she exclaimed, stretching out both her hands. Frau 
von Friese, now that she was acquainted with the exalted 
rank of her friend, felt very much embarrassed. But my 
mother soon put her again at her ease; and as Frau von 
Friese had not a trace of servility in her composition she 
remained as friendly and intimate in her manner as be- 
fore. 

My mother had been in a state of great anxiety at her 
failure to obtain a suitable guardian for me, and looked 
upon the second meeting with the Danish lady as almost 
a special intervention of Providence. She did not make 
up her mind at once, however, and almost a whole month 
elapsed while she made minute inquiries about Frau von 
Friese. I was told later how one day, as they were out 
walking in the neighbourhood of Carlsbad, chance brought 
them to an understanding. Frau von Friese had been 
speaking about her sorrows and her loneliness, and how 
much happier life would have been for her if she had 
had a child of her own to watch over and to care for; 
particularly a daughter, to whom she could have conse- 
crated her life. This outpouring of confidences gave my 
mother the desired opportunity, and revealing her secret 
to Frau von Friese, she asked the latter if she would take 
charge of me. 

The question may be asked, why did not my mother 
leave me in the care of Mr. and Mrs. Kaiser? The great 
obstacle to such a course was Mrs. Kaiser herself. She 
was that kind of woman who, even towards her own 
children, showed her love by many kisses and caresses, 
seeming to forget them when they were not about her. 
She did not concern herself about them for days, but left 
them to the care of governesses and tutors, paying little 
or no attention at all to the development of their char- 
acters and abilities. Moreover, she had one other marked 

40 



defect which prejudiced my mother against her; a quick, 
abrupt manner and a tactlessness of speech which made 
every visit of my mother (who was extremely sensitive) 
more or less of an ordeal to her. 

Naturally Mrs. Kaiser was much offended at my being 
quite withdrawn from her charge ; but as she was a woman 
of no depth of character, her annoyance soon passed. Mr. 
Kaiser, on the other hand, understood my mother's 
reasons perfectly; for, could he have followed his inclina- 
tions, he would not have committed his own children to his 
wife's care. In fact, his position was little altered by my 
removal, as he had never paid much personal attention 
to me ; and he remained my mother's financial adviser and 
the executor of her wishes concerning me. 

On the day following the interview recorded at the 
beginning of this chapter, I left the house of the Kaisers 
to settle permanently in my new home in the Strohgasse. 
This had been purchased for me by my mother in the name 
of one of Mr. Kaiser's friends, and it was peculiarly suit- 
able for allowing her to visit me in secret. I still con- 
tinued, three times a week, to spend two hours with Laura 
and her tutor, Herr Hold, although the time was almost 
thrown away ; but this had to be arranged so that I might 
keep up the appearance of being the daughter of Mr. and 
Mrs. Kaiser. On these days I usually lunched at the 
house, and sometimes after this I went for a walk with 
Laura and her governess. With the exception of these 
few hours my time was spent at my own home. Besides 
these lessons with Herr Hold, Frau von Friese made me 
study a great deal, being not at all an indulgent teacher. 
She seemed very well satisfied with me, however, and one 
day expressed her approval in the following words: 
" They may have ill-treated you, but nevertheless they 
have done justice to your education." And I was as 
proud of this commendation as if I had educated myself! 

My life should now have been perfectly happy, for 
Frau von Friese treated me with the utmost kindness. 
The only cloud upon my happiness was my religious 
teacher, Father Lambertus. Although Frau von Friese 

41 



felt that the Jesuit was not at all well suited to his task, 
she did not wish to bring about a change after so many 
years, fearing to make an enemy of him. Father Lam- 
bertus was a man of medium build, with jet black hair 
tinged with grey. His cadaverous face was of a dyspep- 
tic yellow, and it really made one feel ill just to look at 
him. He was the regular type of the Jesuit whom one 
meets in Austria, narrow-minded and bigoted; and his 
personal manner was ill-tempered and harsh. Poor Frau 
von Friese did everything in her power to make us tolerate 
each other, but the old priest would not give way an inch, 
and I was impertinent as well as obstinate, I must con- 
fess. However, she had great influence over me, and 
through her kind insistence brought me at least to the 
point of promising not to answer him rudely nor to revolt 
openly against the arrogance and dogmatism which made 
his teaching repulsive to me. Every lesson, notwithstand- 
ing, was the occasion for a new quarrel, and I constantly 
forgot my good resolutions and committed some grave 
indiscretion. At last, naturally enough, my governess 
lost patience and punished me. 

With this exception my days passed away quickly and 
peacefully. I often look back upon them with regret as 
having been, perhaps, the happiest of my life. 

A month after I had settled down in my new home, 
mother again left Vienna for a cruise in the Mediter- 
ranean. The regularity of my life was no longer inter- 
rupted by the agreeable excitement of her visits. On 
November 27th she had come to say good-bye to me, and 
had great pleasure on hearing that Frau von Friese was 
well satisfied with me. 

With the exception of Laura, I no longer saw any 
other children, for my mother had given very strict orders 
upon this point, and they certainly were never disobeyed. 
Of course, I was very lonely, for I did not even come in 
contact with very many grown-ups. Besides Frau von 
Friese I had a lady as a companion, a Fraulein Hain, who 
had been a school teacher, and who was now given the post 
with mp in m-der that Frau von Friese should not be too 

42 



much tied down. This arrangement gave my " Ay a " x 
an opportunity of indulging her taste for the opera, and 
allowed her some leisure to meet her friends in their homes. 
On such occasions I used to remain with Fraulein, doing 
needlework or playing the piano. It was strictly for- 
bidden that I should talk to the servants, for, like most 
young girls, I was fond of encouraging their chatter. I 
am afraid that the fact that I was forbidden to talk only 
gave me the more pleasure in doing so. When Frau von 
Friese was away from home I never could refrain from 
addressing a few words to Pirker while he was waiting 
on us at supper in a vain endeavour to make him lose 
countenance. It would have amused me immensely; but 
he always remained perfectly grave. I also tried re- 
peatedly to enter into conversation with my maid while 
she brushed my hair for half an hour every evening. Sit- 
ting in front of my dressing-table, I could see in the look- 
ing-glass the embarrassment on her face; and the more 
confused her answers were, the greater was my pleasure. 
It was perfectly useless for Fraulein to say to me, as she 
did, " Stop your talking, or I shall tell the gnadige Frau." 
A great delight to me was to go to the kitchen to pay 
a visit to Agnes, the cook, a stout old woman with an ex- 
pression of doglike faithfulness on her face. It pleased 
me, too, to see the two smart kitchen-maids in their uni- 
forms of blue or pink, making a pretty picture against the 
white enamelled tiles on the walls. Agnes loved me 
dearly, and when, once in a way, I could escape to her 
domain for a few minutes, her face lit up with pleasure, 
particularly when I said a few words to her in her own 
language (Hungarian). For example, I would say, 
" Edes jo Agnes, nagion ches vagyok " ("My darling 
Agnes, I am very hungry.") Then she knew she was to 
treat me to something nice, but often before she had time 
to do so one of the servants would come in, calling, " Euer 
Gnaden, Fraulein is coming." 2 

i The word " Aya," in its best Continental sense, means " an instructor " 
who is especially gifted and cultured, in charge of a pupil of high rank. It 
is not really to be represented by the English word " governess." 

2 Although literally the words "Euer Gnaden" mean "Your Grace," they 

43 



Most of the servants in the house, I am sure, had their 
suspicions as to my rank, but all were too well provided 
for to risk losing their places through injudicious gossip. 
Those who were fully informed were Sophie, Frau von 
Friese's maid, a quiet, elderly person who talked very 
little; my own maid, Mina Etlinger, a woman of thirty, 
who was so haughty towards the other servants and almost 
everyone else with whom she came in contact that she 
never would have honoured anyone by taking them into 
her confidence; and Pirker, the major-domo. The last- 
named, of course, knew more even than myself, but was as 
dumb as an oyster. I believe he was so accustomed to 
being silent that, as with Grimaud in " The Three Mus- 
keteers," it was an effort for him to talk! He could sit 
for hours and hours in a large armchair before the fire- 
place in the hall, never uttering a word. He thought it 
his duty to rise like a soldier every time I passed. And 
I, like the mischievous child that I was, used to take a 
perverse pleasure in disturbing his doze by entering and 
leaving the hall unnecessarily. He was the only person 
in the house, perhaps, who dared to be independent to- 
wards Frau von Friese ; and nothing would have induced 
him to give up certain of his ways — such, for instance, as 
being the first to read the newspapers when they arrived. 
Although he was extremely respectful towards her, he 
sometimes tried her patience severely with his laconic 
answers. For instance, she hated to sit at the evening 
meal with the curtains undrawn. To see to this was the 
task of the footman, Leopold, but it was Pirker's duty to 
make certain that it was done. It so happened once that 
this had been forgotten. To the remark of Frau von 
Friese that she did not want the neighbours watching us 
at our meals, Pirker answered coldly, and with a face 
devoid of all expression, " The people will only see a well- 
appointed table, with well-behaved people seated at it." 
He never allowed a table-cloth to be used twice. If a 

have not the same significance as in English, being addressed only by servants 
.to persons of rank when they do not know the proper title. They are not 
usual as an address to a child. 

44 



dish had the slightest crack he destroyed it at once. If he 
were told that it could still be used in the kitchen, he 
answered, " Oh, there are too many plates and dishes — 
they get in the way." Then he would relieve his mind 
by scolding the kitchen-maids for their carelessness in 
breaking everything. We had fresh flowers on the table- 
centre every day. At the suggestion that pot-plants 
might be used instead of flowers to reduce the expense, he 
remarked : " It is all the same to me. It is not my house- 
hold. Only, suppose Her Majesty should come here un- 
expectedly. . . ." Needless to say, the suggestion was 
never repeated. 

Pirker did not like to hear the other servants scolded or 
even complained about. In fact, he always shielded them 
in our presence, as he did in the matter of the undrawn 
curtains, although we could be sure that Leopold got his 
lecture afterwards. This Leopold was really intolerable 
— a regular parvenu, if a footman can be a parvenu. To 
his superiors he was servile, to his inferiors rude and arro- 
gant; not at all like Pirker, who was courteous to every- 
one. Leopold's greatest grievance was that he had to 
wear a green livery while the older man wore black. And 
he grew perfectly indignant when, after five month's resi- 
dence with us, upon my mother's return from Corfu he 
was finally obliged to wear a braided coat, knee-breeches, 
and white silk stockings whenever he was required to wait 
at table during her visits. Pirker, on the contrary, would 
not for anything in the world have waited except in his 
black silk stockings and black silk knee-breeches. He 
seriously approved of this ceremonial attire, and nothing 
would have induced him to serve even a cup of tea in any 
other dress. When mother arrived unexpectedly, as was 
often the case, he ushered her into the sitting-room and 
vanished immediately, to re-enter a little later in changed 
attire. She was secretly rather amused at this singular 
homage, and once, in a moment of very good humour, 
could not refrain from making a remark to him about it. 
But, in spite of her mirth, he retained his gravity and 
replied: "May it please your Majesty, I never forget 

45 



what is due to my position, both as the servant of your 
Majesty and as the major-domo of this household. I 
must be careful in all circumstances to set the right ex- 
ample to the other servants." 

Ever after this, at Christmastide, Pirker received the 
same gift from my mother, a pair of silk knee-breeches, 
with a gold coin sewn in a piece of paper in place of every 
button — of which there were in all about twenty-two. 

I have mentioned already that the cloud upon my hap- 
piness at this period of my life was the presence of my 
religious instructor, Father Lambertus. As time went 
on the situation grew worse, and at last it reached a climax. 
I cannot help thinking that the right kind of priest would 
have had a great opportunity with me. It is true that I 
was of a rather obstinate nature, but my mind was very 
inquiring, and I thirsted for information as to the pur- 
pose of life. I was forced to build up a religion of my 
own, for the Jesuit father had nothing to tell me. The 
traditions of the Church and the glories of the saints, 
which, with the simplest Bible stories, were all that he 
thought fit to impart to me, interested me not at all. Any 
questions which I might venture to ask were treated by 
him as mere impertinences. One day matters came to a 
head. He had been more than usually dull and prosy 
that morning over the visit of Jesus Christ to the Pharisee, 
and I suddenly broke out with an attempt to discuss the 
subject of the remission of sins! I had, of course, at that 
time no idea of what the Magdalene's sins were, but I 
boldly asked whether the washing of the feet and the dry- 
ing of them with her hair were not a very small service 
in comparison with the wrongs she had done before. 
Father Lambertus rose in his wrath. His complexion 
was no longer yellow ; in his excitement it turned to olive- 
green. I continued foolishly to argue, when he banged 
upon the table with his fist and shouted that these ideas 
were none of my own — that I was prompted by someone 
else, and that he had had enough of it. I would be made 
to repent of it. 

Totally unprepared for the outburst, I shook like a leaf. 

46 



He raved on, and the sound of his voice reached Frau von 
Friese in the next room. She rushed in to find out what 
had happened, and, taking in the situation, simply pointed 
to the door, saying to me, " Go to your own room! " 
What followed I did not hear, though I learnt, long after, 
that the Father directly accused my governess of per- 
verting my mind and setting me against religion. I have 
no doubt now that he had long cherished ideas of having 
me placed in some convent, and that he had been trying 
all the while to lead my ideas in this direction. Frau von 
Friese being a Protestant — a Lutheran — and over him 
in the control of my education, Father Lambertus con- 
sidered her his arch-enemy. Of course, this was not true. 
She was much too fervent a Christian to allow me to speak 
disrespectfully as I had done. Indeed, my mother was 
much more liberal in her views than she was, being inclined 
to the religion which, for want of a better name, we call 
Pantheism ; and it was doubtless from her that I inherited 
my ideas. But this the priest did not wish to recognise. 
His main object was to make the quarrel so complete as 
to force Frau von Friese's resignation or dismissal. She 
on her part strove in vain to pacify him. They parted 
open enemies. 

The immediate result was to render Frau von Friese 
terribly angry, and entering my room she chastised me 
severely — for the only time in all our connection. She 
then wrote at once to my mother, who had arrived in 
Vienna ten days previously from Corfu, telling her every- 
thing. In the letter, which Pirker took immediately to 
Lainz, she begged mother to choose between herself and 
the priest, saying that one or the other must go, and con- 
cluded by asking her to come as soon as possible. Mother 
could not come at once, and wrote the following letter: 

10th May, 1893. 
My dear Feiese, 

I cannot come at the moment. It is too late now, for 
at three o'clock the Crown Princess and Erzsie are dining 
with me. But do not worry yourself, my dear Friese; 

47 



you know which of the two has to go. As for Caroline, 
tell her, please, that I am very indignant with her. There 
is no punishment too great for her, and I personally order 
her to be shut up by herself for a whole week. Please 
arrange a special room for the purpose. I don't want 
to see her when I come to-morrow. She must understand 
by that how deeply she has hurt my feelings. It is dis- 
graceful in a girl of her age. 

With my kindest greetings to you, 
My dear Friese, 

Yours very sincerely, 

Elisabeth. 

My whole body quivered as this message was read to 
me, and I sobbed long through the night. But how much 
sorer was my grief the next day when I heard under the 
porch the rolling of my mother's carriage wheels. 
Would she come to the little room in which I was a pris- 
oner, I wondered? For nearly an hour and a half I 
waited, until I heard again the rolling of the carriage 
wheels underneath. Then I knew that she had insisted 
upon the strict carrying out of my sentence. I might 
have known it before, for she never wavered in her reso- 
lutions. For the moment I thought my heart would 
break, as I sat alone in my prison with no companion but 
despair. 

For the whole of the week mother remained inexorable. 
Then on the eighth day she came back. Timidly I 
entered the drawing-room, but she took me in her arms at 
once and said, " Come, little sinner; I do not want to hear 
anything more about this story." 

The rule of Father Lambertus was over and done with. 

CHAPTER VII 

SUMMER HOLIDAYS 

Summer had now come again, and brought with it an- 
other change for me. It was arranged that my house 

48 



should be left in the care of the servants. Frau von 
Friese desired to pay a visit to Denmark, while I was to 
spend part of the summer, as usual, with the Kaisers. I 
was sorry to go, because I had grown very attached to my 
home and my kind if strict Aya. And, worse still, the 
holiday involved another separation from my mother. 
The weeks immediately preceding my departure were 
spent as much as possible in her company. On the fine 
days we went out for long walks together in the neigh- 
bourhood of Vienna. When it rained she would come to 
the Strohgasse and pass all her spare time there. I have 
no doubt that the " eccentricity " of her conduct, about 
which so much has been said and written, was particularly 
noticed now. How little did people understand her mo- 
tives ! 

I remember that at the time she was suffering from a 
family bereavement. Her youngest brother, the Duke 
Max-Emmanuel, the pet of the whole family in child- 
hood and known to them all as " Mapperl," after the name 
invented by himself originally, had just died in Bavaria. 

On June 29th, 1893, mother went to Gastein, and I to 
St. Gilgen, close to Ischl, where the Kaisers had hired a 
house for the holidays. St. Gilgen was at that time a nice 
quiet little place; in fact, hardly a regular summer resort 
as yet. It was still quite in its infancy and for just that 
reason was attractive. Its general scenery had the aspect 
typical of all the Salzkammergut district — a beautiful 
little emerald-green lake, old forests of fir and pine, inter- 
spersed with oaks, a small village, a few picturesque 
chalets, and the whole enclosed by high mountains. Prob- 
ably on account of its simplicity, and because it was not 
known to the crowd, society here was especially select. 
Really one would have had to go far to find more interest- 
ing people gathered together in one small place than just 
then at St. Gilgen. Among others spending the summer 
there were Theodore Billroth, with his guests, Johannes 
Brahms and Karl Goldmark; the sculptor, Karl Kund- 
man, with his four daughters; and the Baroness Ebner 
von Eschenbach, the poetess, who came bringing in her 

49 



train a select party of literary aristocrats. Although 
sixty-three, the baroness was extremely vivacious. She 
was very fond of children, with whom her obvious sym- 
pathy made her a great favourite, in spite of her great 
plainness. We spent many happy hours listening to her 
charming talk. 

The weeks spent at St. Gilgen would have been very 
pleasant indeed to me, had it not been for my longing to 
return to the peacefulness of my home life — a longing 
intensified by the uncomfortable relation existing between 
Mr. and Mrs. Kaiser. Really they never did get on well 
together, but just at this time I noticed it more than ever. 
He was kind-hearted but very quick-tempered, and his 
outbursts were dreaded by the whole household. 

One day toward the middle of July, news came that 
the Emperor was to pass through St. Gilgen and that he 
would stop for a few minutes at the station. The whole 
place was en fete. Everyone was excited. My own feel- 
ings were mingled curiosity and shame. I longed to see 
my father, whom I had never seen in my life, yet I felt 
that it was scarcely right that my first sight of him should 
be obtained from the ranks of the crowd. As the hour 
of his arrival drew near, I felt that I wanted to remain 
indoors, but I did not dare to say so. 

At half-past eleven in the morning a telegram came. 
Wandering in the grounds, I had chanced to meet the 
messenger, and as if in unconscious expectation of deliver- 
ance from my anxiety followed him into the house. I 
stood behind Mr. Kaiser as' he read the message, and I 
saw the words, " Make excursion to-day." Instantly Mr. 
Kaiser turned round and seeing me said angrily, " What 
a piece of impertinence! " But I did not mind. I was 
too glad, for I knew I should not see my father. 

I went out for the day, with Mr. Kaiser only, as the 
rest of the household wished to witness the Emperor's 
arrival. I think that my foster-father was secretly 
pleased at the turn of events, appreciating that it was not 
really fitting that I should see the Emperor in this man- 
ner. His wife, over whom in such matters he had not 

50 



the slightest influence, had seen no inappropriateness in 
the meeting. Fortunately my beloved mother, with her 
usual thoughtfulness, had foreseen all and sent orders ac- 
cordingly. 

Several weeks after this incident, Frau von Friese, hav- 
ing returned from Denmark, came to St. Gilgen for a 
few days. Words fail me to express how glad I was to 
see her. I had felt lost without her amongst so many 
strangers. 

Soon after her arrival, she received the following letter 
from mother, written at Ischl: 

My dear Friese, 

I have long been proposing to spend some time quite un- 
disturbed with my child. As it is not possible for me 
to be very much with her, I wish all the more to devote 
every minute I can spare to her. How else are my duties 
as a mother to be fulfilled? You know I have told you 
that I did not wish to be the average mother, who believes 
she has done her duty in kissing her child on the forehead 
a few times in the course of the day. I want to be her 
best friend, and as I am often unable to be with her for 
months together, my only remedy is to live, for a time at 
least, constantly at her side. In God's free world I will 
walk with her and make myself mistress of her child-soul. 

On the 19th of the month precisely, I go to Langbath 
Lakes accompanied only by one of my ladies, and you 
must come on the 19th and bring my baby to me. 

I wonder what they will say about me this time? Not 
that I care! 

Yours very sincerely, 

Elisabeth. 

In obedience to this command, on the morning of the 
19th, Frau von Friese with myself and my maid set out 
for Langbath Lakes, where we arrived the same after- 
noon. My mother was there to receive us. 

Langbath Lakes is an Imperial hunting lodge, on the 
shore of the lakes of that name. Here we spent a week. 

51 



How happy I was to be under the same roof with my 
mother. My bedroom was next hers. For a whole week 
we were scarcely separated for a minute. I always went 
to bed at eight o'clock, and then she sat beside me, so that 
it was with her beloved face before me that I went to 
sleep. Waking up once in the middle of the night, I was 
astonished to perceive her still there. Sleep had not come 
to her — as so often was the case — and she had probably 
sat by my bed for hours. With a smile she kissed me 
now, telling me to go to sleep again ; and I, with a child's 
wonderful feeling of confidence in the presence of a pro- 
tector, drowsily obeyed. 

My mother was justified in her expectations. From 
this time forward I lost the last remnant of diffidence 
caused by our frequent separations. The ties which 
bound us grew stronger and stronger; death alone could 
sever them now. 

Those were golden days. The sun seemed brighter 
than usual, the wind softer, the very air sweeter. Hours 
and hours we spent wandering through the woods to- 
gether. Often long intervals of time would pass in silent 
enjoyment, then at some unexpected beauty of the forest 
— the peculiar shape of an old, gnarled oak-trunk peer- 
ing through the undergrowth, the dewdrops on the moss 
sparkling in the sun, or some charming vista revealed by 
a sudden turn in the road — mother would burst into ex- 
clamations of pleasure. 

Sometimes we did not leave the neighbourhood of the 
hunting-box, preferring a short ramble to a longer and 
more tiring excursion. On these occasions mother would 
put her arm through mine, and as we walked along slowly 
we would discuss all kinds of subjects. I felt very proud 
that she found me already worthy to have serious con- 
versations with her. She sought for the topics which 
might interest me most, social and philosophical questions 
as they are sometimes called. She must have been 
amused occasionally at my original ideas, but she never 
ridiculed them, listening on the contrary quite gravely, 
agreeing or disagreeing as the case might be, and enlight- 

52 



ening me on a variety of points which were very impor- 
tant in the formation of my character. 

Although it was our custom to choose lonely paths, 
we frequently met wayfaring peasants, who bowed very 
respectfully. Sometimes we stopped to chat with those 
we knew. Occasionally we met tourists, who, although 
not recognising mother, never passed without turning 
round to look at her. Then I always felt very proud at 
having such a beautiful mother. But she was also very 
particular about my appearance, making me dress in 
white, and pay great attention to my hair. I was a big 
girl for my age, and my white cloth costume made a 
strong contrast with her black one, so that it was quite 
natural that tourists should stop to look at us as we passed. 

We rose early, and as the mornings were usually too 
cool to take breakfast out of doors, it was served in 
mother's boudoir. She herself ate, like a bird, very little 
indeed, while my appetite was always so good that it 
amused her greatly. She used laughingly to say, " Oh, 
Weiberl, Weiberl, if you go on like this you will become 
a regular giantess, and they won't need the statue of 
Bavaria in Munich, they will take you instead! " 

In the end she seriously asked Frau von Friese to take 
care not to let me grow too stout. 

This anxiety concerning my rapid growth led one day 
to a chance remark, which really opened to me a new page 
in my life. Mother had been saying, while we were out 
for a walk, that I looked more like a girl of fifteen than a 
child of twelve. " You have inherited this from the Wit- 
telsbachs," she continued. " Ludwig was also a giant." 

: ' Which Ludwig do you mean, mother? " I asked. 

' Which Ludwig? Why, Ludwig the Second, of 
course." 

She brought the words out in the quick, impatient man- 
ner so characteristic of her, and began to walk faster. 
But she must have noticed my air of utter bewilderment, 
for she spoke again in a much calmer tone. 

" My poor Weiberl," she said, " of course you can't 
remember him. You were only three years old." 

53 



She stopped and put her arm through mine. Then, 
after we had proceeded a few steps, she suddenly stopped 
again, and drawing me towards her, kissed me feverishly. 

After this we both remained silent until we reached 
home; my mother wrapped up in her own thoughts and 
I trying to recall some faint, distant memories. Some 
place in the country came back to my mind, and there 
was a gentleman in my mother's company, someone very 
tall. It was all rather like the shadow of a dream to me, 
but I seemed to remember that he took me on his knees 
and played with me. I remembered, too, a rose-filled 
garden. But what I remembered most distinctly was a 
cornflower-blue sash on my white embroidered frock. 
Only in later years did it occur to me that these were the 
Bavarian colours, that the place must have been the Isle 
of Roses, and my costume a homage to the tall gentleman 
— King Ludwig II. of Bavaria. 

Unfortunately this sojourn at Langbath Lakes passed 
all too quickly. It was necessary for mother and me 
to part again, though only for a short time. I went direct 
to Venice with Frau von Friese, while mother went back 
to Ischl, following us about a week later. This Italian 
visit was quite different from that to Langbath Lakes. 
We were obliged to be more careful about our meetings, 
though we lived in the same hotel — the Hotel de l'Eu- 
rope. Mother, travelling under the name of the Countess 
Hohenembs, was accompanied by the Countess Festetics, 
her lady-in-waiting, by Baron Nopsca, and by her private 
secretary, von Feifalik. Moreover, we were in a big city 
and not in an out-of-the-way country place. Notwith- 
standing this, life in Venice had charms of its own. We 
bathed in the Lido waters, and in the evenings drifted 
in gondolas down the Grand Canal, enjoying the softness 
of the air and dreaming of the vanished glories of the 
old Republic, the silence broken only by some whispered 
question of mine or my mother's answer in the same low 
tone. 

I recall particularly one of these evenings in Venice, 
when mother was very quiet and melancholy, and the 

54 



silence seemed to weigh us down. We were sitting in 
our gondola, and instead of remaining as usual on my 
cushions I crept up nearer and nearer to her. Finally I 
plucked up courage to express the sympathy which I was 
feeling in my heart, and whispered softly in French, 
" Maman, cherie, qu'astu? " 

She answered, with a caress of the hand: "Nothing 
serious, only memories of my youth which make me rather 
sad." 

At once I guessed that she must have paid a visit to the 
Palazzo Reale, to which she had long been wishing to 
go, while at the same time shrinking from the ordeal. 

" Something drew me thither that I could not resist," 
she said. " The first impression was not too painful — 
but when I went into poor Ferdinand's room. . . ." She 
broke off abruptly, leaving her sentence unfinished. 

On her first visit to Venice, in 1854, when the city still 
formed part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, she had 
stayed at the Palazzo Reale. It was soon after her mar- 
riage, and the young sovereigns were accompanied on 
their tour by the Archduke Ferdinand-Max, afterwards 
the tragic Emperor Maximilian of Mexico. The remem- 
brance of Queretaro overwhelmed her as she entered the 
room that her brother-in-law had occupied. 

The weeks of our holiday slipped by rapidly, and at 
last the time came for us to part again. Mother left at 
the end of September for Godollo, the Hungarian Royal 
chateau not far from Budapest, 1 and I returned to my 
home in Vienna, and to the care of Frau von Friese. 

CHAPTER VIII 

I GO TO SCHOOL 

Fkatj von Friese now proceeded to carry out a scheme 
which she had been maturing since her return from Den- 
mark, when she found me unhappy about being amongst 

i Godollo has been spoken of by some writers as if it had been my mother's 
own property. This was not the case. The chateau belonged to the Emperor 
as King of Hungary. 

55 



so many strangers at St. Gilgen. Her profound expe- 
rience of life had taught her that a knowledge of books, 
however wide it might be, was no substitute for the culture 
imparted by social intercouse. Also she felt that casual 
meetings with strangers like those in the past summer had 
little value in the formation of character. It was by 
systematic and regular association with others, and espe- 
cially with girls of my own age, that I must learn self- 
possession and the right bearing in the world. Employ- 
ing all her habitual tact, she urged my mother to send me 
to school instead of continuing my lessons with Laura 
under Herr Hold. 

Mother had been displeased that the Kaisers had al- 
lowed me to meet so many people at St. Gilgen, but when 
she spoke of this, Frau von Friese observed that, so far 
from this seeming to have done me any harm, on the con- 
trary, I appeared the better able to apreciate what I had 
in life. Mother could not argue that I had received any 
harm, and began to weaken. She hated and detested the 
very idea of sending me to school, however, for fear of 
what might happen to me there, and protested that she 
could never feel safe if I were under any care except Frau 
von Friese's own. But my governess still fought on, and 
her steady persistence won the day in the end. She was 
perhaps the only one of my mother's friends who could 
persuade her to alter her decisions. 

The school to which she wanted me sent, explained 
Frau von Friese, was a private one, quite the best in 
Vienna, to which only the daughters of high families, of- 
ficial and military, were wont to go. " Or should I sug- 
gest the Convent of the Sacred Heart? " she added with 
a smile. 

"A convent? Never!" cried my mother. But she 
agreed now that I should go to the suggested school, if it 
were arranged that one of the teachers should have me 
under her special supervision. Accordingly preparations 
were made for my admission to the institution of Frau- 
lein Alma von Gunesch. Miss Bartholme, the teacher of 
English, was to pay particular attention to me, and in 

56 



order that this would not be too obvious she was appointed 
mistress over the whole class in which I was placed. 

And now I felt very happy. For years it had been my 
great ambition to go to school, and nothing gave me 
greater pleasure than starting off in the morning with 
my books under my arm. I went three days a week, for 
five hours each day. 

On the opening day of the school term, October 1st, 
1893, I was directed to a form in the second row, with 
room for three pupils. During the first hour, from nine 
o'clock till ten, the seats beside me remained empty, al- 
though the other rows were almost all full. At ten o'clock 
a young girl came in and looked about timidly for a place. 
I made signs for her to come and sit by me, when Miss 
Bartholme at once ordered her to another seat, and told 
me not to take things upon myself, for I was at school 
now, and it was not my business to say where the pupils 
were to sit. 

For the moment there was nothing more for me to say ; 
but I could be very persistent when I wanted a thing 
very much, and in three day's time that girl was sitting 
next to me. 

There was really no reason for my request not being 
granted, as Elsa von Thyr belonged to one of the very 
first families in Austria. Her father had been a field- 
marshal who had died only one year ago. Like me, she 
had never been to school before, as she soon told me. I 
did not feel particularly drawn towards her in the begin- 
ning, and it was only my obstinacy which made me wish 
especially to have her beside me. But afterwards we be- 
came fast friends, and for years she was the only girl to 
whose home I was allowed to go. 

My first visit to her mother's house came about in the 
following way. One morning, after we had been ac- 
quainted for some months. Elsa very gravely told me 
that she had written me a letter. 

I had not received it, as it had been adressed to the home 
of my foster-parents, and so I answered with some as- 
tonishment : 

57 



" A letter to me? Where did you address it? Can't 
you tell me what was in it? " 

" Oh, the letter was just for form's sake, for your 
parents to see, my mother said." 

" But what was it about? Please tell me." 

Elsa was timid in many ways, and she hesitated before 
replying. Finally she said: "I sent you an invitation 
to come to see me next Sunday afternoon. I told mother 
that your parents seemed to make a great fuss about you. 
So she said it was better to write a letter." 

My first emotion was one of great pleasure. Then a 
cloud came over my thoughts. Should I be allowed to 
go ? Elsa noticed the change in my expression, and asked 
me what was the matter. Didn't I want to accept? 

But now Miss Bartholme had come up, attracted by the 
sound of our voices, and inquired what we were talking 
about. " I think it was very kind of Her Excellency 
to invite Lily," she said, speaking of me by the name 
under which I passed in the Kaiser family and at the 
school. " But she goes out so seldom that she must first 
get permission from her parents." 

Elsa's face showed some annoyance, and she asked sar- 
castically if my mother and father thought I was made 
of sugar. 

" No," I answered awkwardly, " but, don't you see, my 
mother does not know yours." 

Elsa burst out with the remark that she would have 
thought that " ihre Excellenz von Thyr " ought to be 
good enough for my mother to know. She was very cross, 
and spoke as haughtily to me now as she usually did to 
the rest of the school. I on my side was raging, but I 
controlled my temper with a great effort, smiling dis- 
dainfully and saying nothing. " If you only knew! " 
was what I thought to myself. 

But I quickly repented of my behaviour. After all, 
was she not perfectly justified? Frau von Thyr was cer- 
tainly just as good as Mrs. Kaiser, and Elsa, not being a 
clairvoyant, could not guess who my mother really was. 
I determined that I would do all I could to obtain permis- 

58 



sion to accept the invitation, and I made up the quarrel 
with Els a at once. 

It was only after much persuasion that I got leave to 
go to the von Thyrs' house. Mother was not in Vienna 
at the time, but was away cruising in the Mediterranean; 
so that Frau von Friese had to take the responsibility in 
the matter upon herself. I coaxed and coaxed her, until 
finally she decided to confer with Mr. and Mrs. Kaiser. 
My foster-father had to make inquiries about the family, 
and after he found out that everything was satisfactory, 
they told me that I might go, but that Mrs. Kaiser, as 
my supposed mother, must accompany me on my first 
visit. 

My new friends resided in the district of Vienna which 
is called " The Cottage," where they had a mansion in 
the middle of a beautiful park, several acres in extent. 
Elsa's mother lived a very retired life, seeing only her in- 
timate friends, all of them distinguished people. Really 
it seemed that, had one searched all over Vienna, a more 
suitable girl friend could not have been found for me. 

On her return from the Riviera, toward the end of 
April, mother found me greatly changed for the better, 
and was very glad that she had consented to send me to 
school. I was no longer so childish and unformed, but 
had begun to me more womanly in manner. 

' You are always right, and I am always wrong, my 
dear Friese," she said to my faithful Ay a. " From this 
time on I shall never veto anything that you may decide 
on Lintchi's behalf. 1 I can see clearly now that I under- 
stand nothing about the ways of the world. But there 
you are — our education unfits us for real life ! You are 
bringing up my girl as I have always intended to have 
her brought up. I see now that I personally should never 
have had the energy necessary for success. With all my 
good intentions, I should probably have made out of her 
nothing but a common-place, everyday princess, after all. 
You really are my guardian angel, sent to help me in my 

i My mother never called me Lily, but usually Lintchi — or Linka, which 
is the Hungarian form of the diminutive of Caroline. 

59 



time of need! " 

Frau von Friese was very pleased with this expression 
of approval. But, as I have said before, there was not a 
trace of servility in her nature — which was the chief 
reason why my mother loved her so much — and she an- 
swered: " As your Majesty is so kind as to praise what 
I have done, I will be frank and admit that you have 
sometimes made matters a little difficult for me. That 
renders your Majesty's approval all the more valuable 
now, and you can give me no greater proof of your con- 
fidence than by allowing me to carry out my plans for 
Lily in the future." 

' You shall, my dear Friese. It is time that we should 
show the world that our class knows its duty to be to edu- 
cate our children to help their fellowmen. These children 
must not be conceited because of their rank, but must 
realize that if fate has given them a leading place it is 
in order that they should set an example by their char- 
acter and conduct." 

She pulled me toward her and whispered in my ear, 
" Now life really has an object for me! " 

There are occasions, not very remarkable in themselves, 
which nevertheless greatly impress the mind of a child. 
My mother's remarks were the last link in a chain of in- 
fluences which helped to mould my character. My regu- 
lar life, and freedom from the fear of punishment; the 
good rule of Frau von Friese; the greater intimacy with 
my mother; and last, but by no means least, my inter- 
course with other children of my own age — these were 
the other links. From this time forward I began to ob- 
serve myself more closely, and to think, quite without con- 
ceit, with regard to every action of mine, " Is this worthy 
of an archduchess? " 

At the end of May my mother and I went to Munich 
for three days. We lived in the " Vier Jahreszeiten " 
Hotel. The first two days my mother was in rare good 
spirits such as were seldom hers. On the third we went 
together to the sepulchre of Ludwig II. She was en- 
tirely changed — bowed down with grief, deathly pale, 

60 



feeble, and languid. We both knelt down at the foot of 
the tomb, when, taking my two hands, she placed them 
upon it, with her hands resting on mine. So we remained 
some little time. On rising we stood still for a moment; 
and then finally she spoke, with so mournful a solemnity 
that I was perplexed and oppressed. 

" My child, remember that if ever at any time you come 
again to Munich you must come here. This is a sacred 
duty which your mother lays upon you." 

Then she took my arm, and without another word we 
walked out. 

CHAPTER IX 

an accident; and a visit to the eiviera 

The first summer after I went to school I had no desire 
for the holidays. The chief reason for this was that I 
knew that I should not be with my mother. She went 
this year to Madonna di Campiglio in the Tyrol. It had 
been her intention that I should follow her there, but at 
the last moment it was decided that she should be accom- 
panied by a large suite, and that the Emperor should join 
her shortly afterwards. It was therefore out of the ques- 
tion for me to be with her there. My disappointment 
was very great, and the question tormented me, " What 
was to become of me? " I secretly hoped that I should 
not have to spend the summer with the Kaisers. I had 
forgotten the necessity of keeping up appearances. 
When Frau von Friese told me that it had been arranged 
that the Kaisers should take me with them again, I was 
plunged in despair. 

" I know that it is hard for you, my dear," she said, 
" but it is just for that reason that I wish you to go. If 
you had really enjoyed the irregular life of last summer 
and had wanted to go, it would have been my duty to for- 
bid it. You must learn, you know, to bow to the inevi- 
table." 

This was her system, for the good of my character. 

61 



So I went away with the Kaisers once more. Good luck, 
however, bef el us — if it is not hard-hearted of me to say 
so — for toward the end of July Mrs. Kaiser had such 
trouble with her eyes that she was obliged to go to a sana- 
torium at Salzburg. At first it was thought that this 
would be only for a short time, and I was left with Laura 
under the care of the governess. But as weeks passed by 
with little or no improvement in Mrs. Kaiser's condition, 
Frau von Friese, who had only just returned from an- 
other visit to her own country, though it unwise to leave 
me any longer without a special guardian to take charge 
of me, and so came to fetch me away. The rest of the 
summer we spent together at Gmunden, which is quite 
near to Ischl, so that we were able to see my mother as 
often as she could manage to get away from her suite. 

At the beginning of September mother proposed to 
take me with her on a visit to Corfu. Again fate inter- 
vened to keep us apart. At the last moment my sister 
Valerie and her husband, Francis- Salvator, announced to 
my mother their intention of spending September with 
her. This was a great disappointment to us both. 

In October I returned to school. I was glad to meet 
Elsa again, with whom I had kept up a regular corre- 
spondence during the summer. Everything seemed to go 
on just the same as before the holidays. In the mean- 
while, mother who had gone from Corfu to Godollo, re- 
turned to Vienna on November 3rd, so as to be able to 
spend the 4th (which is the name-day of my patron, St. 
Charles ) as usual with me. This time I received my first 
present of any value except the unset six-carat diamond, 
which was always purchased for me on that day as for all 
the archduchesses of the Austrian Imperial family. My 
new present was a pretty string of pearls, each the size of 
a pea. 

A few days after, on November 7th, I was alone in my 
study with Frau von Friese when Pirker announced a 
visitor to see her. This visit was quite unexpected, and it 
left me, as very rarely happened, alone in my room, 
Fraulein Hain being out for the day. Now, like most 

62 



girls, I loved to arrange things to suit my own taste. 
There was a picture on the wall which was not hung to my 
fancy, and I determined to use this moment of freedom 
to change its position myself. I called Leopold to bring 
me a ladder; but, as he was busy or probably too lazy to 
obey, he sent it to me by one of the maids. Mina, who 
had seen the girl with the ladder, followed her into the 
room, and begged me to wait for Frau von Friese's per- 
mission. But I laughed, and ordered her to stand near 
the door and give me warning if footsteps should be heard 
approaching. The ladder was one of those double ones, 
and in my hurry I forgot to put the crutch in. I had 
climbed up, and was leaning over to lift the picture when 
Mina sounded her note of warning, " Die Gnadige kom- 
mit " (Madame is coming) . I tried to get down quickly, 
and in my haste caused the ladder to slip, throwing me 
heavily to the floor. I tried to rise, but in vain. Some- 
how, I had hurt my back. At this very moment Frau 
von Friese entered the room. She stared at me terrified. 
Then, growing angry, she exclaimed: "Get up you 
careless girl. What were you doing with that ladder? " 

" I can't get up," I answered. 

My governess was naturally pale, but at my words she 
became as white as chalk. Mina had now hurried to my 
side, and cried reproachfully: "What did I say? But, 
of course, no one ever listens to me! " The remark, no 
doubt, was meant not so much to cast the blame upon me 
as to exonerate herself from the charge of allowing me to 
use the ladder in the absence of Frau von Friese. 

They put me to bed with considerable difficulty, every 
movement causing me great pain. Then Frau von Friese 
got Mr. Kaiser to summon Professor Lorenz, the famous 
surgeon. The Professor declared that my back had been 
severely strained, and that I must be put into plaster at 
once — a proceeding which was so excruciating that I had 
to clench my teeth to prevent myself crying out. 

After the Professor's departure Frau von Friese said 
despairingly: "Now I must inform Her Majesty. 
What will she say?" This was probably more for the 

63 



benefit of Fraulein, who had just returned, than for mine. 

" Oh, don't tell mother that it is serious," I exclaimed, 
in spite of my pain. " I don't want her to know how 
badly I am hurt. Besides, I will tell her that it was all 
my fault." 

" No, my dear, I cannot deceive your mother," answered 
Frau von Friese. " I must tell her every word that the 
Professor has said. And it is my fault. I should have 
given orders to say that I was not at home to anyone when 
I knew that Fraulein was not with you." 

The same evening mother arrived, pale but outwardly 
quite composed. As she bent over and kissed me, her 
touch seemed to relieve the pain, as though she really 
possessed the gift of kings. With Frau von Friese she 
was as gentle as only she could be, and embracing her said 
she never could be convinced that it was her fault. Was 
I not, after all, no longer a small child, but a girl quite 
old enough to take care of myself? 

She spoke so unconcernedly, and her whole manner was 
so cheerful and natural, that none of us realised what 
agony she suffered inwardly, thinking that I should be 
lame for life. She remained with me all night. My suf- 
fering was so great that for some time I could not sleep. 
But mother took one of my hands in hers and held it. 
Then there stole over me that feeling of calm confidence, 
which her presence and her touch always inspired, and I 
fell asleep. How long I remained so I do not know. 
The rustling of her skirts awakened me. We were alone. 
She, thinking me asleep, had knelt down by my bedside. 
Opening my eyes I saw that hers were red with weeping. 
Poor, poor mother! What must have been her anxiety 
to cause her to cry like this? When she saw that I was 
awake, she rose and bending over me pressed her cheek 
against my face, so that I felt her burning tears running 
over my temples. I put my two arms about her neck, 
and strained her to my heart as tightly as I could. 

Her presence at my bedside was the cause of some 
trouble. On leaving the Hofburg, as she intended to 
return almost immediately she had omitted to confide in 

64 



any of her ladies-in-waiting where she was going, or to 
say that she might remain away all night. When they 
discovered her absence they kept silence at first. How- 
ever, as time passed and she still did not return, they 
thought it best to inform Baron Nopsca, the Master of 
her Household. In ordinary circumstances he would 
have reported this immediately to the Emperor, but sup- 
posing it only some small matter which detained her, he 
too kept silence. As hour after hour passed by and she 
did not come back, the anxiety of her attendants grew 
acute. They dared not now inform the Emperor, for the 
result would be a severe reprimand, perhaps even dis- 
missal. Still less did they dare to institute a search for 
Her Majesty, lest worse should follow. So the night 
came to an end, leaving them all in a terrible state of 
mind. Events justified their conduct. My mother, 
after having forgotten them all in her trouble about me, 
returned to the Hofburg at six o'clock in the morning. 
Then the storm broke. Baron Nopsca, who was wrought 
up to fever-heat by his anxiety, accused her of trying his 
patience too far, and informed her that if such a thing 
should occur again, he could not take on himself the re- 
sponsibility of keeping silent. Mother was nervous and 
unstrung with all that she had undergone, and, bitterly 
realising that she was never free to do as she wished, lost 
her temper suddenly and struck him in the face. After 
this, of course, Baron Nopsca could not remain longer in 
her household, and demanded to be allowed to resign. 

My mother, needless to say, afterwards repented of 
her hastiness on this occasion, and seized every oppor- 
tunity of showing Baron Nopsca marked attention. 
Once, I know myself, on the occasion of a dinner given by 
her in honour of my sister Gisela and her husband at 
Budapest, she sent to him in Vienna a present of fruit. 

For three weeks after my accident I was obliged to 
lie on my back. At first, regardless of everything else, 
mother came every day to see me. Then, when my re- 
covery was assured, arrangements having been made pre- 
viously for a trip to the Mediterranean, she left Vienna 

65 



on December 1st, after commanding Frau von Friese to 
inform her every day by letter and telegram of my con- 
dition. 

My convalescence was so rapid that before Christmas 
I was able to be up and walking, and finally even to go 
back to school. According to her regular custom, mother 
passed this winter in the south. This was for me usually 
the longest period of separation from her; but this year 
my accident came to my assistance. About the beginning 
of January Professor Lorenz decided that it was advisa- 
ble for me to have a change of air. Frau von Friese 
made no reply at the time, so that my surprise and pleas- 
ure were very great indeed when, a little later, she in- 
formed me that- 1 was to spend some time with mother 
on the Riviera. I was so overjoyed that I danced from 
one end of the room to the other. " Oh! You are 
good! " I cried. " Am I really to see mother so soon and 
so unexpectedly? " 

"Of course," she replied. " We shall all live at the 
same hotel. No one will be any the wiser. Your mother 
has known me for years, and can talk with me as often as 
she wishes without its being remarked upon by anyone. 
So we shall be perfectly free." 

My joy speedily gave place to doubt. The news was 
surety too good to be true. Many things might happen 
to prevent our departure. The doctor might alter his 
mind. Mother might countermand the order. I magni- 
fied my groundless fears until school-work became impos- 
sible to me, and at nights I would lie awake until thor- 
oughly exhausted. So things continued until the date of 
our departure arrived. That day I was in a worse fever 
of impatience than ever. Only when we had reached the 
train and entered our compartment, and I stood at the 
window watching the last preparations, could I breathe a 
little easier. Then the guard blew his whistle, the train 
gave a jerk, and we rolled out of the station on the way 
to Nice. There was no turning back now. I lay back 
in my seat, feeling supremely happy. At last I was 
really on my way to the Riviera, the earthly Paradise, 

66 



with my darling mother as the guardian angel of it. 

A disappointment was awaiting me on my arrival. 
For I was greeted by a bleak north wind, a wintry, dust- 
covered landscape, and a dull sky. Was this, then, the 
Riviera? But I was soon reassured. On the following 
day a soft southerly breeze was blowing, sky and sea were 
a perfect blue, and the landscape was bathed in the golden 
light of the southern sun. Suddenly an overwhelming 
love for this beautiful country sprang up in my heart and 
possessed it. It possesses it still, and will do so until my 
heart shall cease to beat. 

On the first day after my arrival mother took me to see 
the famous gardens of Mortola. As we wandered 
through them I could not repress my enthusiasm. My 
first exclamation, I have afterwards been told, was: 

" Mother dear, how lovely it would be to die here! I 
feel happy beyond all wishes, with all this beauty and 
with you. The only thing to make me sad is when I think 
that it cannot last." 

For hours and hours, covering miles and miles, we wan- 
dered about together each day. Mother always left the 
hotel unaccompanied, and we met at some appointed 
place. How glorious were these times! However far 
we might walk, no distance ever seemed to tire us. She 
was very solicitous about me, however, constantly asking, 
' Weiberl, does your leg hurt you, or do I go too quickly 
for you? " And all the while, without any visible sign, 
mother herself was suffering tortures from sciatica. 

Never before did I realise how much happiness my 
presence gave her. Often in the course of our walks she 
would draw me to her and kiss me ; or else she would take 
my hand in hers, and so we would go along hand in hand. 

Occasionally during our walks we had rather amusing 
experiences. One day, I remember, we lost ourselves, 
or at least went a lot out of our way, in an olive-grove 
in the neighbourhood of Rochebrune. As usual mother 
was afraid of tiring me, and so we had sat down on a 
fallen tree, the only seat which we could see about us. 
We had only been there a few minutes when a stout lady, 

67 



accompanied by a girl of about twenty, came along and 
in broken French asked permission to sit on the tree-trunk 
beside us. As we did not intend to move at once, mother, 
of course, not wishing to be rude, immediately answered, 
" Yes." ' Then turning to me she half -whispered a few 
words which the elder lady recognised to be German. 

" Oh, the ladies are German," she began at once in her 
own language, her face radiant with that patriotism which 
is so strong in the heart of every German, and which they 
manifest so plainly when they meet with one of their fel- 
low-countrymen. 

Mother explained that we were Austrians, and entered 
into conversation with the zest which she was wont to 
show upon such occasions. She dearly loved to be in- 
cognita, and was only cold and distant with people who 
knew her rank and with whom she had to be, as she ev- 
pressed it, " on parade." The German lady proved to 
be very talkative, and had soon told us where she came 
from and how she liked the Riviera, but found Monte 
Carlo too noisy, and a difficult place to recognise celebri- 
ties on account of the crowds. She catalogued the roy- 
alties in the Riviera for the season, or likely to arrive soon 
— the Empress Eugenie, Queen Victoria, the Prince of 
Wales, and the Emperor and Empress of Austria. I 
could scarcely restrain my laughter, but mother gave no 
sign. In spite of the unhappiness of her life she still kept 
a spirit of mischief in her. She encouraged the German 
lady to talk of the Emperor and Empress, and then, as 
the other remarked what an interesting person the Em- 
press was, she broke in with, " Oh, she's a crazy woman; 
I would not go a yard to see her, with her fan spread out 
in front of her face the moment she thinks you are look- 
ing at her. I would just as soon look at my own fan " — 
at the same time striking it against her knee and rising 
to go. 

The friendly German expressed her pleasure at having 
met us, hoped to see us again, and gave the address of her 
villa, as though inviting an exchange of confidences. 
Mother hurried me away, scolding me mildly for the 

68 



mirth I was now making violent efforts to control. Our 
inquisitive friend would soon enough find out to whom 
she had been talking, she said. She was quite right. 
Very shortly after the adventure in the olive-grove, 
mother told me that as she was taking a walk with the 
Countess Festetics and General von Berceviczy, she again 
came across the lady, who stepped on one side with a deep 
curtsey and a smile which showed that she had recognised 
her. 

But the incident did not close here. A few days later, 
when I was out walking with Frau von Friese, we met 
the two ladies again. Now, however, instead of stepping 
aside, they crossed our path to speak to us, and after a 
low curtsey, the old lady haltingly began: " Your Im- 
perial Highness, please excuse me if I take the liberty 
of stopping you. I only wish to beg of you to convey 
my deep apology to Her Majesty, if we have perhaps be- 
haved in a way we ought not to have." 

If the good lady was embarrassed, I was still more so, 
but Frau von Friese came to my rescue and answered for 
me: " There is nothing to apologise for, my dear ladies, 
since nothing unpleasant occurred. Nevertheless we will 
convey your message." 

The Germans were not yet quite reassured, and the 
younger one took up the tale. I felt very sorry for them ; 
and, embarrassed myself at their very embarrassment, I 
suddenly blurted out: " I will explain to mother " 

I stopped abruptly. What a fearful blunder I had 
made! We rushed away immediately. Frau von Friese 
had turned quite pale, and for once was deprived even of 
the power to scold me. 

During this visit to the Riviera, not a day passed with- 
out my seeing mother. She seemed so happy about it, and 
indeed quite as happy as I was myself. Even if we could 
not see each other in the daytime I would creep into her 
bedroom for an hour after she had retired. To do this, 
I had to descend from my own room on the first floor to 
the main hall of the hotel on the ground floor. Then, 

69 



taking great care that no one should see me, I slipped 
into the corridor leading to my mother's apartments. 
Hurrying down this, I passed through the room reserved 
for the ladies of the bedchamber into my mother's own 
room. She was always in bed before I arrived, and I 
would sit on the edge of it, or else would lie down near her, 
often in her arms, with my head on her shoulder. We 
were both silent and both content at being in each other's 
company. 

It must not be thought that it was easy for me to escape 
observation. My mother's attendants, though few in 
number, were always on the alert, and might easily have 
caught me had they wished. There were General von 
Berceviczy; Feifalik, her private secretary; Pali, her 
Greek reader at that time; and the Countess Festetics, 
besides her other ladies and the servants. But at my ap- 
proach they all vanished. I was so naive as to believe 
then that their disappearances were accidental and that 
none of them knew what I was doing! 

" My poor Weiberl," mother said to me on one of the 
first evenings of our stay, after I had crept tremblingly 
to her room, " you are a brave little girl. iSTow I want 
you to tell me the real truth. When you have to humble 
yourself like this for my sake, don't you feel vexed with 
me?" 

"Oh, mother dear!" I cried, "have I ever given the 
slightest sign of vexation? Are you dissatisfied with me 
that you should speak like that? " 

She saw that I was upset, and hastened to comfort me. 
She explained that she had only been afraid I might think 
it was owing to a caprice on her part that I had to live as 
I did, in such secrecy always, and that I might feel that 
I was being deprived through her of the rights and priv- 
ileges which should be mine. I was an Archduchess, and 
did it not seem wrong for me to go through the streets 
unrecognised, instead of receiving the salutes of the sol- 
diers and the homage of the crowd? 

But I assured her that such things as these were noth- 
ing to me, when I was really so much better off than the 

70 



other Archduchesses, living under her care, as Gisela and 
Valerie had never been allowed to live. I know that I 
was perfectly sincere in talking like this. I did not con- 
sider myself in the slightest degree lowered, but, on the 
contrary, raised to a height by my manner of life, in such 
intimacy with her. Nothing else could have brought me 
such happiness. Moreover, the comedy of concealment 
which we played together was too amusing and, above all, 
too romantic not to please me. With the Wittelsbach 
blood in my veins I could not escape the heritage of a ro- 
mantic nature. 

What my mother said on another occasion comes back 
to me in connection with this question of an Archduchess's 
position. " You know, Weiberl," she told me once, " it 
is the excessive honours they receive which spoil the char- 
acters of those who are too young to understand that such 
honours are paid not to them personalty, but to the family 
they come from. It is only natural that children should 
have their heads turned in this way and come to consider 
themselves of a superior clay. If I had had anything to 
say in the matter, I should have forbidden them to ride in 
the golden Imperial carriages or to receive military sa- 
lutes before their sixteenth or eighteenth year. But, of 
course, if I had even hinted such views I should have been 
declared a lunatic, and so I never interfered. For my 
own part, I do not care for such extravagances. I should 
like to see them abolished. But the public loves them. 
Drums and trumpets amuse it! " 

Like everything else in life, my enjoyable time on the 
Riviera came to an end. In February, after several 
weeks' holiday, I returned to Vienna with Frau von 
Friese. Mother left at the beginning of the following 
month for Ajaccio, whence she sailed for Naples. And 
here she went on board her yacht the Miramar, and paid 
a visit to her villa at Corfu, which she had built a few years 
earlier. 



71 



CHAPTER X 

HOW A HOLIDAY WAS SPOILT 

It was on May 1st of this year, 1895, that my mother re- 
turned to Vienna, and she came to visit me at once. As 
the Emperor went to Pola for some days on the 7th and 
Valerie had gone home, she was perfectly free for a time 
to spend every moment with me. When the weather was 
fine we made excursions; and when it was wet we passed 
the day at my home at Lainz. I kept a diary then, from 
which I take a few extracts: 

May kth. To the Hinterbruhl with mother. 

8th. With mother to Klosterneuburg, over the Leo- 
poldsberg and the Kahlenberg, where we took tea. We 
went down by the funicular railway to Nussdorf, and 
from there home in a carriage. 

9th. To Hernals to see a poor family named Sperl. 
Mother wanted to find out what they needed. [She after- 
wards set them up in a small grocery business, without 
letting them know who she was.] 

10th. Mother with me in the afternoon. Mr. Kaiser's 
birthday. Lunched there. It rained all day. 

11th. Rain again. 

lMh. A long walk to the Augarten with mother. 
Weather still bad. 

15th. Mother only with me for an hour. 

May 16th. Over the Aninger to Baden with mother 
and Frau von Friese. 

19th. Mother could not come to-day. There is a big 
dinner-party at Lainz. Father back from Pola. Count 
Kalnocky, Prince Liechtenstein, and Count Paar were at 
the dinner. 

20th. Examination at school. Mother again could 
not come to see me. Another dinner-party at Lainz. 
Father, Mother, Stephanie, and Erzsie. 

21st. Mother came to see me and told me she could 

72 



not come again for several days, because Valerie was com- 
ing. She stayed with me all the afternoon. 

22nd. Franz [the Archduke Franz-Ferdinand] came 
to Vienna alone. Valerie ill, and two of her children with 
chicken-pox. So mother will be able to come and see me. 
How lucky! 

23rd. With mother to Forstel's in the Kohlmarkt. 
Bought a very nice handbag for Elsa's birthday. The first 
time in my life with mother in town. No one recognised 
her. 

27th. Franz has gone back to Wels. He was waiting 
for Valerie all the time, but she could not come. 

28th. Mrs. Kaiser has very bad eyes. Mother went 
with me to see her. Laura is so silly. 

Slst. Elsa's birthday. A girls' party there. Prin- 
cess Jeanne Ghika, Alica von Matacziz, Laura, and my- 
self. 

June 1st. End of school term. Most of the girls 
cried. Some of them wrote their names in my album. 
Among them were Sera Vlassak, Mizza von Voinovicz, 
Marianne von Pittreich, and Wilma Roll. 

2nd. Gisela came from Munich with her two boys. 
She will remain a whole week, so I shan't be able to see 
mother. I am so disappointed. She would have been 
free, as father has gone away to Graz. 

On June 10th my mother left Vienna for her annual 
pilgrimage to the tomb of King Ludwig at Munich. She 
stopped on the way to visit Valerie at Lichtenegg. She 
had originally intended that I should meet her at Wels, 
whence Lichtenegg can be reached by carriage. By this 
arrangement we should have travelled together, as we did 
in the previous year ; the time of her departure from Lich- 
tenegg being undecided, however, this was impossible. It 
was usual, when we went on a railway journey together, 
for mother to have a private carriage attached to the train 
while I took a separate compartment in the other part of 
the train. Then, after we had started, I would make my 
way to her carriage, so that, while officially she was alone, 

73 



actually I travelled with her. On this occasion, according 
to her instructions, I left on the 11th for Munich, accom- 
panied by Frau von Friese. Our separation was really 
fortunate; for Gisela met mother on her arrival at the 
station, and had we been together, even if as usual we had 
left the train separately, it might easily have been very 
awkward for us. 

Our week at the Hotel Continental in Munich was 
really delightful, though we were depressed by our visit 
on the 13th to the tomb of the king. In token of her 
never-failing remembrance, mother left a wreath of jas- 
mine and roses, his favourite flowers. 

On June 18th mother returned to Vienna, while on the 
20th I went to spend the summer at Gmunden. This 
time I was not separated from my dear Frau von Friese, 
and we lived together in the same villa as in the previous 
year. It was very charming, this little villa with its 
groves of walnut-trees and pines at the back and both 
sides. In front was a lawn with a fountain in the centre, 
bordered by two rows of ancient trees interspersed with 
sweet-smelling jasmine and lilac. Gmunden itself is one 
of the finest spots in the Salzkammergut, and as it is less 
than an hour from the Imperial summer residence of Ischl, 
it is much patronised by fashionable people. 

A summer morning in this place is most lovely. How 
enjoyable it was to breakfast on the terrace, with the 
whole scene sparkling in the sun, the mountains only 
wrapped in a light veil of fog; the air fresh with dew, a 
perfect blue sky overhead, suggestive of unending peace 
and quiet, and in the distance the mirror-like dark green 
lake, where now and then the creaking of the oars of a 
rowing-boat and the following splash were the sole sounds 
to break the silence! How glorious it all was, and how 
blase must be the people who can look upon such beauty 
with indifference, as if it were merely something else 
which they can purchase with their gold! 

Mr. and Mrs. Kaiser had also leased a summer villa 
here, and so I spent some of my time at my own home and 
some at theirs, especially at the beginning of the visit; 

74 



for mother stayed over three weeks at Bartfeld, in Hun- 
gary, for the waters. She wanted at first to take me 
there too, but she decided not to. She was afraid that, 
owing to her great popularity in Hungary, she was more 
likely to be recognised there than elsewhere when she had 
me with her. Besides, she was accompanied by a big 
suite, including the Countess Festetics, the Countess Kor- 
nis, the Countess Mikes, her lady reader Fraulein Ida von 
Ferenczi, and her Greek reader Pali. Her fear on this 
occasion was no exaggeration, for she wrote me that she 
could not go for a walk, even in the least frequented parts 
of the forest, without seeing someone apparently bent on 
meeting her. She also spoke in one of her letters of the 
thoughtfulness shown by the Hungarians in furnishing 
and decorating her private apartments, and expressed 
particular pleasure at the delicate perception which caused 
busts of her beloved Heine, as well as of her two favourite 
Hungarians, Deak and Jokai, to be placed in her sitting- 
room. 

On July 24th she arrived at Ischl. After this we met 
several times at Rimbach, a little place at the end of the 
Lake of Gmunden, called also the Lake of Traun. 

The first time we were alone together, my mother said 
to me: "Babe, we have become indispensable to each 
other. We spoil one another, and are too happy. You 
will see that Fate has some trick to play upon us." 

Prophetic words! 

At the beginning of August the King and Queen of 
Roumania arrived at Ischl, so that mother was unable to 
come over to see me. Thinking to occupy the time, which 
hung heavily on my hands, I begged to be allowed to 
visit and nurse Laura, who was ill with bronchitis, follow- 
ing upon an attack of measles. Frau von Friese and the 
doctor at first opposed my idea, but ultimately gave way, 
the doctor saying that Laura's illness was not contagious. 
Frau von Friese probably consented the more readily be- 
cause she desired to make her annual visit to Denmark. 
Besides, she strongly approved of my affection for my 
foster-sister. So it came about that I was installed as a 

75 



nurse, but not for long. On the sixth day I felt unwell 
myself. I kept silence regarding my feelings, but the 
next day I was so ill that I was compelled to remain in 
bed. My attack, however, was slighter than Laura's, 
since I was confined to bed four days only. During this 
time Mrs. Kaiser nursed me. I must acknowledge her 
great goodness in taking entire charge of me on this oc- 
casion. She even went to the extent of putting me in her 
own room, leaving her own daughter to the care of others. 
The malady must have been really very catching, for on 
the day I rose from my bed Mrs. Kaiser was obliged to 
take to hers. 

My governess's absence, coupled with the illness in the 
Kaiser household, prevented mother from being informed 
at once of what had happened to me. In fact, she only 
learned of it on the same day that I got up. She came 
over instantly to see me. Poor mother ! At the sight of 
me she could not keep back her tears, so anxious did she 
feel about me. She herself had not been well, and it 
made my heart heavy when I saw the tears rolling down 
her cheeks. Had those who called her cold and lacking 
in heart seen her then, they never again would have dared 
to speak a word against her. 

Though the illness proved so catching, mother insisted 
on seeing Mrs. Kaiser to thank her personally for the 
great care she had taken of me. " You go first into Mrs. 
Kaiser's room," she said to me, " and tell her that I want 
to see her. But for goodness' sake let there be no fuss. 
Tell her she must remain in bed. If she tries to get up, 
say to her it is on account of the servants that she must 
stay where she is." 

I carried this message word for word to Mrs. Kaiser, 
who smiled and consented to remain in bed. Then mother 
went to her, and was really wonderfully gracious. 

" Mrs. Kaiser," she said, " you have made yourself ill 
through nursing my girl. Now it will be her turn to take 
care of you." 

Mother had arrived at the house quite alone, and, like 
an ordinary stranger, had asked Mrs. Kaiser's maid (who 

76 



happened, unfortunately, to be a comparatively new one) 
if she could see her mistress. How great was her embar- 
rassment when, instead of being admitted at once, she re- 
ceived the answer that Mrs. Kaiser was ill and could see 
no one! Timidly mother asked for Miss Lily or Miss 
Laura. All this took place at the entrance to the villa. 
How degrading it was for her, the Empress, to have to 
beg for admittance at the hands of a maid, who, not know- 
ing whether she was really a friend of the family, was un- 
decided as to the advisability of letting her inside the 
house! I wonder that she did not become angry before 
Laura, whom the servant finally fetched, came to her 
rescue. 

During the whole of Mrs. Kaiser's illness my mother 
sent every day to inquire after her and showed many 
proofs of her especial regard. Among other presents 
came several bottles of the priceless Imperial Tokay. 
Her gratitude for Mrs. Kaiser's kindness to me was deep. 
But then gratitude was one of the most marked of 
mother's good qualities. 

Mrs. Kaiser's illness took a dangerous turn. After a 
few days she became delirious, and she remained in this 
state for weeks, so that the worst was almost expected. 
She had two nuns to nurse her in turn, day and night. 
In her delirium she tried to send them away, not recog- 
nising the moving black objects. 

Although Laura was not far removed from me in age, 
her character was much less mature than mine. Besides, 
she was too impatient to be able to nurse her mother, so 
that I felt it my duty to be near her. Frau von Friese 
by this time was back again from Denmark, and, high- 
minded woman that she was, was quite convinced that it 
would do me no harm to see this side of life. 

Mother, who was leaving for Aix-les-Bains on the last 
day of August, had arranged that I should follow her 
there, and on this account had leased Dr. Vidal's garden, 
so that we might the more easily meet each other. In 
order not to run the risk of disappointing me at the last 
moment, as had happened before when something unex- 

77 



pected caused a change in her plans, she had told me noth- 
ing about this. After her first visit to Gmunden during 
my illness, she came to see me several times again at my 
own villa, where Frau von Friese now was, and it was 
only on the last day that she spoke of her plan of taking 
me with her. Unfortunately, just on the impulse of the 
moment, I cried: 

"But can I go? Suppose, while I am away, Mrs. 
Kaiser " 

I stopped short. But my mother drew me towards 
her, and feverishly pressed kisses upon my eyes. She 
fought a silent battle within herself, and finally she said in 
a voice that was no more than a whisper : " You are quite 
right, Weiberl. You cannot go away now. You are a 
good, dutiful girl." 

I was too young and inexperienced to understand then 
what it cost her mother's heart to make this sacrifice. 
All the summer, probably, she had been looking forward 
eagerly to this time. She had planned everything so 
carefully, and had not breathed a word of it before the 
proper day. Even at the time I had an intuition of her 
grief, although I could not realise how deep it was. I 
tried to take back what I had said, and to argue that 
events might take quite a favourable turn after all. I 
must confess that I too was heartbroken now, when I 
thought of all the lovely times of which I had deprived 
myself. But it was in vain. Mother shook her head and 
said: 

"' Weiberl, darling, did you not hear me? I have de- 
cided that you have to remain." 

Then I knew that not a syllable more must be uttered, 
if I did not wish to make her angry. I could guess that 
those firm words were meant more, perhaps, for herself 
than for me. And so I stayed behind. 

The succeeding weeks slipped swiftly by until the end 
of September arrived. Laura had gone back to Vienna 
with her father, and had been placed in a boarding-school 
under the management of Fraulein Hanauseck. Mrs. 
Kaiser was now quite out of danger, but the doctors or- 

78 



dered a complete rest for her. As I never returned to 
Vienna so early in the autumn, and as mother was in Hun- 
gary, where she had gone from Aix-les-Bains, I remained 
with Frau von Friese at Gmunden and spent much of 
my time by the bedside of the patient. The autumn was 
beautiful, and I enjoyed to the fullest extent my walks in 
the neighbourhood. 

I remember several curious occurrences at this time. I 
was known to everyone in the place, and there was plenty 
of gossip about me. I noticed that I was even treated 
with more or less deference, as befitted my real rank. I 
was known by the title of " Princess," and was supposed 
to be staying at Gmunden incognita. As I was walking 
on the esplanade, it frequently happened that gentlemen 
stopped to bow deeply to me, and that young girls made 
curtseys. When I went to the bathing-place everyone 
stared at me. It was probably considered remarkable 
that I was always accompanied by Frau von Friese and a 
maid; especially as the former never took the baths her- 
self and the latter was manifestly waiting upon me. Per- 
haps some people had already seen me in my mother's 
company. Although the society at Gmunden was very 
select, the place was a regular nest of gossip — probably 
because the aristocratic quality of the visitors furnished 
the local bourgeoise with the more food for discussion. 

One day early in my visit I was standing by chance at 
the gate of the Kaisers' villa in the dress which is called 
the Dearndl — the costume of the upper Austrian peas- 
antry, very fashionable at that time for ladies also. This 
suited me well, as I was rather big. I did not notice that, 
as I stood at the gate, a man with a camera took up his 
position opposite me. I was therefore much astonished 
when he came up to me and said: " I have taken the lib- 
erty of taking a snapshot of you, mademoiselle. I could 
not resist so charming a subject." 

I only smiled bashfully, not knowing what to reply, and 
he did not wait for an answer but passed on. How great 
was my amazement when, as I was walking out one day in 
the autumn with one of Mrs. Kaiser's two nuns, I met the 

79 



same man, who halted before me and with a low bow said : 

" Your Imperial Highness, I owe you an apology. 
Your Highness will remember that this summer I took 
the liberty of taking a photograph of you, but I did not 
then know who the charming young lady was. Your Im- 
perial Highness may rest assured that no one shall ever 
see the photograph." 

For a moment I did not know what to answer, but I 
did not lose countenance. With a smile that helped to 
hide my embarrassment, I answered: " Keep it as a re- 
membrance to me, but please do not show it to anyone 
else." 

And then, inclining my head slightly, as I had seen my 
mother do, I passed on. What did the man mean? I 
wondered. Who had been talking to him? 

A second little adventure happened soon after this. It 
was on a Sunday afternoon, very grey and dull. Sister 
Elizabeth, one of the nuns, noticing that I seemed rather 
lonely and bored, said to Mrs. Kaiser, " Would not the 
young lady like to go to the entertainment which the par- 
ishioners have got up to-day for the cure of our church, 
in honour of his seventieth birthday? It will not be a 
very grand affair, but it will serve to pass the time." 

Of course I was eager to go, and as Frau von Friese 
and Mrs. Kaiser raised no objection, a servant was sent 
to the town to see if seats could be obtained. He re- 
turned with two tickets. As Frau von Friese was not at 
all interested in such things, I went accompanied by my 
maid. We were shown by a young priest to some seats 
in the third row. Just as we were about to take our 
places another young priest hastened up, whispered some- 
thing to our conductor, looked hard at me for an instant, 
and hurried away. 

" Euer Gnaden, please have patience a moment," said 
the first priest. And now in front of the very centre of 
the first row, where the old cure himself, Father Mayer, 1 
was seated, we saw them place two large armchairs. 

i Father Mayer is still living, I believe. I noticed in a Vienna paper last 
year, or the year before, a mention of another entertainment at Gmunden in 
honour of his birthday. 

80 



Then, with a low bow, the young priest mentioned to me 
to take these seats. 

During the performance the actors, too, made most 
respectful bows to me — to my great confusion. But the 
climax came when the performance was over. The cure 
rose to thank those present for their attendance, but first 
of all he turned to me and expressed his gratitude for the 
great honour shown him by my presence. To make mat- 
ters worse for me, I had forgotten to put on a belt when 
I dressed to come out, and so was obliged all the time to 
keep my coat on, lest the watchful eyes of the audience 
should notice this defect in my costume ! 

CHAPTER XI 

PROFESSOR KRAUS 

Mrs. Kaiser being almost restored to health, and the end 
of October having arrived, we all returned from Gmun- 
den to Vienna. Although I had regular lessons from 
Frau von Friese even when I was in the country, my 
studies there were nothing like those in town, and this 
winter saw a great increase of work compared with what 
had gone before. For certain afternoons in every week 
I attended classes at the school where Laura was board- 
ing, Fraulein Hanauseck's. Then, in addition, I had a 
number of private tutors at home, who taught me Greek, 
Latin, mathematics, history, geography, literature, music, 
etc., etc. It was not intended by my mother or Frau von 
Friese that I should be idle. 

Among my teachers I had a special preference for the 
one who instructed me in general history, in the history 
of art, and in psychology; and he merits some attention 
here. Professor Kraus, in spite of his forty years, looked, 
with his eye-glasses and his clean-shaven face, more like 
a student than a professor. It was with great reluctance 
that he had agreed to give lessons to a girl — a thing he 
had never done before in his life. In this instance he con- 
sented for the sake of Frau von Friese, with whom he 

81 



was very good friends. But he told me afterwards that 
he was glad he had consented. The hours spent with him 
were not given over strictly to lectures from him, but 
rather to an agreeable interchange of ideas on the matter 
under discussion. My observations appeared to amuse 
and interest him very much. I remember that once, hav- 
ing been allowed to choose my own subject, I wrote an 
essay outlining a new law to help the unemployed. Upon 
reading the title he looked at me and smiled, but when he 
had finished the essay he said: "You should keep this. 
You may have use for it some time. There are some 
Utopian ideas which you will discard, but the rest is very 
good. Unfortunately, I myself am not an expert in po- 
litical economy, so that I am unable to advise you. But 
you seem to have a natural talent in this direction, and 
will not need much instruction." 

We spoke of many subjects together, and after I had 
related to him the miserable experiences I had had with 
Father Lambertus, I thanked him for being the first to 
teach me to think in a logical way. 

By chance the Professor came to know my secret. The 
discovery was made one afternoon soon after my return 
from Gmunden. It had been arranged that he should 
sometimes give me my lessons in the library instead of in 
my study, especially when I was engaged upon the his- 
tory of art ; for then we examined illustrated works on the 
subject, which were too large to be carried easily into the 
study. Now on the library table stood a framed photo- 
graph of my mother. On the first day, immediately he 
entered the room, he noticed it and remarked quite casu- 
ally, " Ah, the Empress! " 

" M — mm! " was all I could mutter in reply. I really 
did not know what to say. He stared at me for a mo- 
ment, but said nothing more at the time. 

Another afternoon, not long afterwards, Frau von 
Friese was not at home, and Fraulein Hain was with us 
in the library, when suddenly mother arrived, quite un- 
expectedly. She was told that I was having a lesson, 
and that Frau von Friese was out. Now the servant had 

82 



not noticed that I was in the library, and it was this very 
room that my mother entered to wait until I should come 
to her. It happened that just at that moment we were 
silently examining a book, so that not even our voices 
gave her warning of our presence. She opened the door 
— and imagine her stupefaction ! I can still almost hear 
her little cry of dismay as she shrank back from the room. 
But it was too late. Quickly as she had retired, Profes- 
sor Kraus had seen her first. Fraulein Hain rushed out 
of the room. The Professor looked at me and smiled, 
while I, I should imagine, was wearing the most imbecile 
expression that a human being could wear. The Pro- 
fessor, however, was quite equal to the occasion. Taking 
up my mother's photo, he said: " Please do not be trou- 
bled, Princess." He sometimes already jestingly ad- 
dressed me thus. " On the day that you answered 
' M — mm,' I felt that I had not made any mistake when 
I instinctively gave you the title of Princess; and to-day 
I am doubly proud. It is none of my business to inquire 
how you are connected with the Empress. But " (he 
continued smilingly) " if it will reassure j^ou, Princess, 
I can promise you, upon my honour, that I can keep si- 
lence, and I hope you will place at least as much confi- 
dence in me as you do in your servant." 

For answer I gave my hand. I was rather touched and 
could only say, after a pause: 

" I will ask ' the authorities ' for permission to tell you 
my secret. I hope it will be granted, and then if it is, I 
shall be giving you the greatest proof of my confidence." 

The Professor now took his departure immediately. 
Mother, when I entered the room where she was waiting 
for me, did not know whether to laugh or not. Of course, 
she was somewhat vexed at what had happened, but she 
was not disposed to take the affair too seriously. Poor 
mother! She had been through too much real tragedy to 
be much upset by such a trifle. When I saw a smile on 
her face, I could not contain my pleasure. And then I 
told her how very considerate the Professor had been, and 
concluded by asking if I could not tell him our secret. 

83 



Frau von Friese, who had returned while this was going 
on, assured mother that he was really a trustworthy per- 
son, and so mother gave a gracious consent. 

" I propose, dear," she said, " that we give this story 
a pleasant ending. When does the Professor come 
again? " 

" The day after to-morrow, in the afternoon." 

" Very well, then, I will come too. But before I see 
him, Babe, you must tell him who you are, and say 
that after the lesson your mother wishes to make his ac- 
quaintance, so that he is to come into the library." 

I was so happy that I threw myself upon her to kiss 
her, and put my two arms tighly round her neck, a thing 
I never used to do ; for my respect for her would not allow 
me to do so. Uusually, when my feelings were stirred, I 
would kiss her hand passionately, and then she would take 
me to her and cover my face with kisses. But this time 
I was quite beside myself with joy at the granting of my 
praj^er concerning the Professor. Mother gave the con- 
strained little laugh peculiar to her in moments of nervous 
tension, and said to me, " Babe, Babe, soon I shall be un- 
able to call you by that name. You seem to be so grown 
up already that you put yourself quite on a level with 
your mother." 

I hid my face abashed on her shoulder; for, gentle as 
her words had been, I understood that they conveyed a 
rebuke. She had her own peculiar way, not only with 
me, but, I believe, with her other children also. In her 
eyes I had committed a great error. A child should not 
be so familiar with her mother. And she was right, for 
a mother does lower herself in the eyes of her child if she 
does not insist on due respect. 

However, there was the excitement of preparing the 
revelation for Professor Kraus to help me for the mo- 
ment to forget my deserved rebuff. Two days after the 
incident in the library I had another lesson from him, and, 
of course, immediately confided to him my secret. When 
I told him that I was the daughter of the Empress, he 
was overwhelmed with astonishment. " I was eager to 

84 



know who you really were, but I did not expect that! " he 
exclaimed. " I racked my wits to solve the problem, but 
in vain." 

As mother had ordered me, when the lesson was over, 
I asked him to permit me to present him to her in the 
library. He appeared quite embarrassed at my request. 
Not being a courtier, he did not know what to say, and 
so endeavoured to escape. " I shall be most honoured," 
he stammered. " But I am not suitably dressed. And, 
besides, what shall I say on the spur of the moment, all 
unprepared? " 

I could not help laughing, and tried to encourage him, 
assuring him that mother was far more unassuming than 
any woman he could possibly know; and as for his cos- 
tume a frock coat would put a stop to all friendliness. 

He scratched his head in trepidation still, then quickly 
passed his hand over his hair to make it smooth again, 
and we went into the library. His embarrassment did 
not last long, for mother, when she wished, could be more 
winning than anyone else I ever met, and now she was 
at her best. She gave him her hand, and in a moment put 
him entirely at his ease. 

They talked together for nearly half an hour. Mother 
told him how she had heard, through me, several of his 
ideas, both literary and psychological — ideas which in- 
terested her very much and which she wished to talk over 
with him personally. If it were possible, she would like 
to be present at my next few lessons from him. 

And indeed she did come several times, and to me it 
was really a pleasure to listen to them discussing. 

" Do you know, Professor," mother said to him the last 
dajr on which she came, " I would like to spend some time 
in the country with you, where, unhampered by conven- 
tion and inspired by Nature, we could freely exchange 
our views." 

She spoke in her impulsive, charming way, which really 
was far indeed removed from flirting, though no doubt, 
especially when she was younger, it might easily deceive 
a man with a good opinion of himself. 

85 



One had but to know my mother to realise that with 
her to say a thing was to do it. Once an idea entered her 
mind, she proceeded at once to carry it out. So now, be- 
fore she left for Mentone, she said to me: " Now, Wei- 
berl, try to be very clever! I am going away for some 
time. While I am away, you must think of some plan 
by which we can spend this summer together without 
being disturbed. 

Once again I was on the point of throwing my arms 
around her neck. But, guessing my impulse, she came 
towards me and put her arms about my shoulders. I was 
so happy I almost cried. 

Might I talk with Frau von Friese about the plan? I 
asked. Of course I might, mother answered; and we 
would invite little Professor Kraus to help us spend the 
time. 

And now I vainly cudgelled my brains, day and night, 
for a suitable scheme for our summer holidays. Frau 
von Friese would teasingly ask me how far I had got in 
my undertaking, which made me feel desperate. Some- 
where in a quiet corner of the world, where nobody would 
come to disturb us, in some remote little country place we 
must meet. This was not so difficult. No one in the 
house would dream who mother really was. But how to 
get rid of her attendants quite baffled me. So time passed 
on, and my despair increased, for I naively imagined that 
mother had really relied on my ingenuity to find a plan. 
I asked Frau von Friese how mother had managed in 
other years when I had to spend weeks and weeks with 
her. 

Then I had been a little girl, Frau von Friese replied, 
and my mother might have been supposed to have taken 
me with her out of charity and to amuse herself. But 
now I was too big; and, besides, I had grown too like her 
in appearance for anyone to miss the resemblance and be- 
lieve the story of my being a motherless child upon whom 
the Empress had taken pity. 

How relieved I was when mother came back at last 
and I found that it did not really depend upon me to in- 

86 



vent the plan ! She soon put me out 'of my suspense. As 
she smilingly asked how I had progresed with my scheme, 
I understood all, and was all impatience to hear what she 
had arranged. She had discovered, she said, a charming 
little place, quite near Ischl. It was so close to the Im- 
perial villa that she could easily visit me for a short time 
at least every day. As she was in the habit of making 
long excursions from Ischl into the mountains, it was very 
much to the satisfaction of her suite when she suggested 
that she should leave them at home. The worst that could 
happen was that she might have to take some of her more 
intimate attendants with her now and then. Once or 
twice a week she would be able to remain away overnight, 
and if at any time she did not feel like walking she would 
stay with me in my home. The suite would only say that 
the wandering instinct was stronger in her than ever be- 
fore, but no one would attempt to hinder her. So this 
would be the nicest time we had ever spent together. 

I was so happy that I could have danced for joy as she 
unfolded her plan. And she, too, seemed to be in such 
good spirits over it as were unhappily not too common 
with her now. 

When she had left me last I still felt some little shame 
over my too impulsive conduct on the day when she had 
granted my request concerning Professor Kraus, and her 
mild rebuke still dwelt in my mind. But the remembrance 
only made me the more feverishly anxious to see her again. 
She had gone from Vienna to Mentone and from there 
for a cruise in the Mediterranean. Toward the end of 
March she had written to me from Corfu and sent me a 
marble statuette after her statue of Achilles. By doc- 
tor's orders she had remained at Corfu nearly the whole 
of April. But the enforced rest and quiet did not relieve 
her nervous trouble so much as the doctor had anticipated. 
She wrote to me that this was probably on account of her 
intense longing to have me with her. She was so forget- 
ful and abstracted at the time that her attendants would 
often stare at her in wonder. Poor mother! 

On the last day of April she arrived in Budapest to be 

87 



present at the opening of the exhibition in connection with 
the Hungarian millennium, and there she was detained 
nearly two weeks. My diary shows me that it was on 
May 13th, 1896, that she came at last to see me again in 
Vienna. 

On the day that I knew that she was coming to me my 
excitement was so great I could not sit still. Every few 
minutes I went to the window to see if her carriage was 
in sight. The more impatient I became the more time 
seemed to creep. I kept looking at the clock to see if it 
had not stopped. Then I tried to read, but in vain. A 
carriage would pass through my quiet street, and again 
I would rush to the window, but still she did not come. I 
crept into the library and finally into Frau von Friese's 
room, like a fretful child. And then, at last, a soft rum- 
bling was heard from afar, there was a rolling of the car- 
riage under the porch, and my heart brimmed over with 
joy and happiness; and, laughing and shouting at the 
same time, I sped out of the room — and into mother's 
arms. How can I describe such a moment? Words fail 
me ; but I can recall still the quiet happiness in her incom- 
parable eyes, the perfect silence of the first moments, and 
then the outburst of speech. What a lot we had to talk 
about ! 

How well she made me understand the intensity of her 
longing for our meeting. She repeated to me what she 
had so often written already about the days of torture and 
the nights without peace. All remedies were vain — all 
except one, at least, and that she knew she must not take. 
If she had sent for me she would have been cured. But 
I must be left to my studies, and so she conquered her 
heart. 

Now that we were together again she seemed to be 
trying to fathom the uttermost depths of my soul. On 
my part, I felt bound to confess to her every thought of 
mine, however insignificant. She looked at me so search- 
ingly that I could keep nothing from her, much less tell 
her an untruth. These moments were to me far more 
sacred than an actual confession to a priest has ever been. 

88 



Kneeling at her feet, I could have prayed to her as to a 
saint. And the more she questioned me, the more I loved 
her, for I was the better able to realise how great was her 
care for me. 

After we had unburdened our hearts like this, mother 
would ask Frau von Friese to come to the drawing-room 
with us, and the time would pass very pleasantly, for their 
enjoyment of each other's society never grew less. Even 
now, sometimes, I live these scenes over again. On even- 
ings when the silence of my room is undisturbed save by 
the ticking of the clock or the whirl of some passing mo- 
tor-car, time is no more, and I am at one with the past. 
Again I see my beloved mother sitting in the large, pale- 
blue armchair, her small white hands resting on its arms, 
her soft smile expressing the happiness of the moment. 
Again I hear her low, sweet voice mingling with Frau 
von Friese's cheerful conversation, which always seemed 
to refresh her so. And then comes Pirker, wearing his 
most solemn expression, and almost noiselessly he opens 
the folding doors leading into the dining-room. Mechan- 
ically all three of us rise. Mother takes my arm, and 
we go slowly into the next room. The conversation is 
continued while Pirker serves the tea, and with it usually 
mother's favourite dish, cold game-pie. In the midst of 
the talk, mother takes, it may be, a little flask out of her 
pocket. It is of crystal, beautifully cut, and has a golden 
stopper. On its sides is a representation of the dance 
of the Nine Muses in relief. On the top is an enamel 
face, wearing a black mask, the eyes being little diamonds. 
Frau von Friese admires the flask, but with some restraint, 
for she knows what is coming. 

" Do you like it, my dear Friese? I bought it in Paris. 
It is really most artistic." 

And now Frau von Friese is bound to acknowledge its 
delicate beauty, whereon immediately mother says: 

' Would you care to have it, dear Friese? Please do 
me the favour of accepting it. It is none the worse for 
the few weeks' use I have given it. Perhaps it will re- 
mind you sometimes of your loving friend." 

89 



Slightly embarrassed, Frau von Friese accepts the gift. 
I cannot remember that mother ever made her a present 
as if she were saying, " Here is something for you." She 
always knew how to manage it so that my governess 
seemed to be conferring a favour upon her in accepting it. 

At the end of the tea, just before rising, mother slips 
something surreptitiously under her serviette. But Pir- 
ker knows very well what it is. 

CHAPTER XII 

SOME HAPPY TIMES; AND THE PROFESSOR'S DIARY 

It was nw mother's custom to remain for a considerable 
part of each spring in Vienna; that is to say, at her own 
palace of Lainz. This year, 1896, I saw more of her than 
ever before. A restless eagerness for my societjr seemed 
to possess her. She usually came over to my home early 
in the morning, and we either took long walks together 
or else she remained with me in the house. She took an 
interest in the smallest matters which concerned me, and 
supervised everything. For instance, because I did not 
hold myself well, she ordered me to sleep without a pillow 
on my bed. As I did not place my feet correctly when 
walking, she directed that I should wear iron supports 
for my boots. She thought I was growing too stout, and 
so I was put on a special diet, which deprived me of my 
favourite dishes. Every day saw some new command 
intended for my good. She seemed to find great happi- 
ness in being thus able to watch over me; and I, for my 
part, was both happy and proud that I absorbed so much 
of her thought and attention. The little discomforts of 
my daily programme mattered not at all to me. I felt 
with delight her guiding hand in all the details of my life. 
At the end of May the Emperor Francis-Joseph went 
to Budapest, and mother was quite free to do as she 
wished. Her health had grown very much better during 
the past few weeks, and fc was often in quite good spir- 
its. On the afternoon pi the day the Emperor left Vi- 

90 



enna she came to see me. We were in the sitting-room 
after our five o'clock tea, and I was expecting her to de- 
part within the next quarter of an hour. But I noticed 
a playful smile about the corners of her mouth, like that 
on the face of a card-player about to put on the trump 
card that will win the game. Leaning back in her arm- 
chair, she looked first at me and then at Frau von Friese. 
Neither of us had the slightest idea of what was to come. 
Suddenly she turned to me and said, " Do you think, 
Babe, that you could find room enough in your bed for me 
to-night? " 

I was so amazed that at first I could not realise the 
meaning of her words. This seemed to amuse her 
greatly, for she laughed as heartily as if she were making 
up for years of restraint. The next moment I was out 
of my chair, dancing and clapping my hands as I shouted : 
" Mammi, Mammi, Jeckus! Mammi, ist's moglich Du 
bleibst da? " (If I had been a little American girl I 
might have said, "Oh, Gee! Mamma, do you mean to 
say you're stopping right here? ") 

" It is quite true," mother answered. " I did not tell 
you of my intention before because I wanted to enjoy 
your surprise more thoroughly." 

Frau von Friese now suggested that it was not neces- 
sary for mother to sleep in the same bed with me. But 
she answered that it was just here that the pleasure of the 
whole escapade lay, and that she did not wish it otherwise. 

Mother had sometimes lunched at my home, and regu- 
larly took tea with me ; but this was the first time she had 
ever had supper with me in Vienna, in fact her first even- 
ing spent with me except on the occasion of my accident. 
She did not wish us, she said, to add anything to our menu 
on her account, except some Frankfurter wiirstl and 
horse-radish. ( This liking for Frankfurt sausage, by the 
way, has been imputed to her, if not as a crime, at least 
as a serious error of taste!) I see from my diary that we 
had for supper also herring salad, veal cutlets done with 
bread-crumbs, green peas, and cakes and fruit. It is curi- 
ous how children love recording such details ! The great- 



er 

91 



est fun came, however, when we were going to bed. I was 
so big that she could wear my night-gown, and I shrieked 
with laughter when I saw her attired in it. We slept 
together, and she had to stop me talking, or else I should 
not have gone to sleep at all that night. I remember well 
the pleasing impression I had upon first waking the next 
day. Mother was already awake, and greeted me with a 
bright smile. That morning there were no lessons. 
Mina had a difficult task in brushing and combing 
mother's hair, and it was Frau von Friese who had finally 
to arrange it to the best of her ability. I have often won- 
dered how mother, with her quick, impatient nature, could 
show herself so particular and so patient over the dressing 
of her hair. 

The same afternoon my mother left us and she pur- 
posely kept away on the following day so as to prevent too 
much comment on her conduct. Further to lull suspicion, 
she went for a long excursion with the Countess Festetics 
and Christomanos, whom she had recently engaged for 
the second time as her Greek reader. They visited the 
Kahlenberg on June 1st, my diary records. On June 
2nd, however, she took me with her over the Helenenthal 
to the Eisenes-Thor (the Iron Gate), the greatest height 
in the neighbourhood of Vienna. She parted with me at 
Baden station, and from there I went the same day to 
stop with the Kaisers, who were on their summer holiday 
at Voslau. On June 1st Mr. and Mrs. Kaiser had cele- 
brated their silver wedding. Among other presents Mrs. 
Kaiser received was a pair of beautiful grey pearl ear- 
rings, set in diamonds, from mother. 

It was arranged that I should go to Voslau, because 
mother was obliged to pay a second visit this year to 
Budapest in honour of the millennium of Hungary's ex- 
istence as a nation. There was a great assembly on this 
occasion in the House of Magnates, at which both Em- 
peror and Empress (or King and Queen, as I should say) 
were present. President von Szilghy in his speech paid 
special homage to mother; so touchingly, indeed, that it 
was noticed that she could not answer, and that her eyes 

92 



filled with tears. 

On the 10th mother returned from Budapest, and dur- 
ing the remainder of the month we met frequently and 
made many excursions together around Vienna. On 
July 1st I went with Frau von Friese to Ischl, where 
mother had taken a place for me. It was more like a 
hunting-box than a villa, but was none the less cosy for 
that. It stood in the middle of a park, surrounded by 
old trees; adjacent to it were farm-buildings and stables, 
which gave the whole a very rustic appearance. It was 
quite an ideal place for the simple life. 

Mother did not arrive until two weeks later. She first 
went to Bavaria, to spend some days at Tegernsee with 
her brother, the Duke Karl-Theodor. With him she went 
to Hohenschwangau, where also they were joined by my 
sister Gisela, wife since 1873 to Leopold, second son of 
the Prince Regent of Bavaria. On July 4th, only three 
days after my arrival at Ischl, a note from her came unex- 
pectedly to Frau von Friese. She wrote very briefly, and 
quite in her own characteristic style : 

" Bring my Babe over to Hohenschwangau on Friday. 
Am making an excursion on foot, and want to take her 
with me." 

This idea had occurred to her quite suddenly, and she 
herself posted the little note. The knowledge that she 
was only a few hours away from me made it impossible 
for her to resist the temptation to have me with her. With 
one guide we made the journey round the Plansee to 
Linderhof, and remained there overnight. For this one 
among King Ludwig's palaces I have never cared. It 
might impress simple minds as being magnificent, but to 
the more sophisticated it can but appear as lacking in re- 
finement. The king was not a practical architect, and 
his builders had ample opportunities of tricking him. At 
the end of two days I returned to Ischl ; but mother went 
to Munich, on her visit to the grave of King Ludwig. On 
June 15th she arrived in Ischl. 

93 



Of the pleasant summer idyll this year at Ischl I have 
a description written by an abler pen than mine — an ex- 
tract from the diary kept by Professor Kraus. I must 
give a few words of explanation as to how this diary came 
into my hands. 

One rainy afternoon, after my mother's departure from 
Ischl, Professor Kraus was sitting in the writing-room, 
with a manuscript book spread out on the table before 
him. As I went up to the table, just by chance my eyes 
caught the word, " Princess." Of course, I immed|iately 
concluded that he was writing about myself. 

"Professor," I cried, "that is something about me! 
You must let me read it. Please, please! " 

I was curious, I must confess, to see what he had 
written — not so much about me as about mother. But 
that I should ever use his notes one day in a book of mine 
was about the last thing I should have dreamt of then. 
Professor Kraus now smiled at me mischievously through 
his glasses, and told me that it was impossible I could 
see his manuscript. Still I persisted ; and still he refused. 
I tried all ways to persuade him. He must have said 
something bad about me, I remarked at last. He accused 
me of vanity in thinking he had written only of me. 
Thereupon I became offended and haughty, which had 
the desired effect. He protested that he had not meant 
to be rude, and that the few memoranda which he had 
made for himself alone about his pleasant visit were not 
worth my reading, and would only make me laugh. I 
made no answer and pretended to be unmollified — until 
he handed me the book. He did so not altogether unwill- 
ingly, it occurred to me after, for he could not really be 
displeased that we should see the complimentary things 
he had said about us. 

I myself was so delighted with what Professor Kraus 
wrote and his manner of writing that I copied the whole 
of it into my own diary before I returned him his book. 
Here is what he said : — 

"July 11th, 1896. Frau von Friese and the Princess 

94. 



invited me, some time ago, to pass a few weeks at their 
little summer-place near Ischl. Her Majesty also took 
it into her head that she wanted to know what I would 
be like in the country. All three ladies promised me 
that my time would be well spent. Now that is just 
where it was. My time, my precious time — should I risk 
its loss in this Court atmosphere? But they all guaran- 
teed that no courtly taint should be allowed to reach me; 
and finally I accepted. Very many, no doubt, would be 
astonished at my reluctance, would eagerly grasp at such 
an opportunity and look upon it as a great honour. But 
this is how I am built. I am an untamed creature, and a 
little bit of a revolutionary. I don't care a fig for these 
honours. Why then have I accepted? I had no plan for 
the summer, and, to make it worse, all my friends kept 
asking me the same dull questions — ' What are you going 
to do with yourself this year? ' ' Where are you spending 
your holidays ? ' ' You are up to something extraor- 
dinary again, of course? ' So I really had to think what 
I could do. With six months ahead of me and a com- 
fortable balance at the bank, I should have been all right. 
But I had only two months, and funds were low ! Should 
I go to some place for the waters? Such a plan never 
appealed to me. Should I make a walking tour in the 
mountains? I should be a dwarf amongst the giants, and 
I never envied the pygmies. Besides, it would mean toil- 
ing up the mountains, and I am too lazy for that sort of 
thing. What about the seaside? I was there during the 
whole of last summer, so I have had quite enough of that. 
Then there was the simple life in a country village. What 
amusement could I find in that? Certainly I do not care 
a snap of my fingers for society. But total isolation — 
no reasonable man could stand that for more than two 
days at a stretch. I speak from experience! 

" I see nothing else left except to try the little fairy 
castle. I do not expect very much, but perhaps, after 
all, there may be some surprise in store for me. It is 
true there will only be women there — yet not ordinary 
women. I have a rooted aversion to the word ' superior,' 

95 



and only use it sorely against my will. So here I make 
a vow that I will not allow myself to be imposed upon 
by the ' superiority ' of their birth. 

" Thus it came about that early in the morning of 
July 9th, my one-horse cab, which I had ordered the day 
before, stood at my door. In spite of the early hour, the 
air was very sultry. Bon voyage! The omens are good. 
In such weather one might be tempted to feel sorry for 
the poor people who have to remain in this oven of a city, 
but then I am not so kind-hearted as all that. The 
thought only made me feel the more comfortable, and it 
was with a cruel and malicious joy that I stepped into the 
cab. My trunk was already on the box beside the driver. 
At a crack of the whip Rosinante sets herself in motion. 
But the pace is not very great, for at every second corner 
building operations are in progress, filling the air with 
an atrocious dust. Again we have to stop in front of 
reeking cauldrons of liquid tar, belching forth their poi- 
sonous fumes; or are held up by a whole file of rattling 
and whistling street-cars, blocked on the line. Finally 
the station comes in view. On the platform there is a 
tremendous bustle. Every compartment is overcrowded, 
and each passenger wants one to himself. But everything 
has an end — or, rather, a beginning — and so we begin 
to move. I won't describe the journey; journeys are all 
very similar. There are the mothers with their families, 
hunting in the racks for packets of provisions; the chil- 
dren quarrelling over a magazine; the men grumbling 
because they are in the wrong carriage and cannot smoke ; 
the old maids shivering and complaining about the 
draught; and so on and so forth. 

" At Ischl station an elegant two-horse equipage is 
waiting for me. Adolph, I say to myself, from now on 
you must play the grand seigneur; and with this I lie back 
in the carriage as if I had never known what it was to 
walk. The drive is a fairly long one. We pass several 
farmhouses, where the dogs bark after us, and barefooted 
children bow humbly — to the elegant carriage rather 
than to its occupant, I am sure. We roll past woods and 

96 



meadows, and finally turn into a shady chestnut avenue. 
We go more and more slowly, and just as I am beginning 
to realise how dusty and dirty I look and am pulling out 
my handkerchief, we stop at a small flight of steps. It is 
too late. Pirker, the Princess's major-domo, comes to 
meet me. I am ushered into a fairly large but very cosy 
hall, with bamboo chairs and numerous palms and ferns. 
All is perfectly silent ; quiet and rest seem to smile out of 
every corner. Pirker leads me up one flight of stairs. 
On the landing stands a footman, who opens the door.. 
For a moment I hesitate. I cannot possibly present my- 
self before the ladies in such an untidy state. But Pirker 
is evidently a thought-reader, for he says immediately, 
' This is the Professor's apartment.' 

" Reassured, I step in. My room is a big one. There 
are two windows, in deep recesses; on their sills stand 
flower-pots. Between the windows is a gigantic desk, 
and beside it a book-shelf full of books. In the middle of 
the room are placed a large sofa and two heavy leather 
chairs. Against the back wall is an old oak wardrobe, 
and the bed stands in an alcove. A Persian carpet 
spreads over the whole floor and gives the finishing touch. 

"So far all goes very well, I think to myself. I could 
not be better lodged; and if they make it as comfortable 
for me in everything else, they will not get rid of me 
quickly. Pirker was standing behind me. ' If the Pro- 
fessor needs anything,' he said, ' will he please just ring 
the bell? The footman is at his service.' 

" I nodded a dignified assent and asked, ' When may I 
pay my respects to the ladies? ' 

' The ladies are out driving. They will meet the 
Professor downstairs in the hall a little before seven/ 
With this Pirker bowed low and retired. 

" More than an hour and a half still remained to me 
before the rendezvous. I proceeded to make myself com- 
fortable and ordered a bath. I lingered over one thing 
and another, so that, before I realised it, it was already a 
quarter to seven. Slowly and quietly I went downstairs, 
step by step. Half-way down I heard already the cheer- 

97 



ful noise of mingling voices. Scarcely was I on the last 
step when the Princess rushed toward me crying : ' At 
last you are here, my little Professor ! ' 

" Except for her and Frau von Friese, I did not know 
anybody. I was presented to a lady with exquisite man- 
ners, the Marquise de Pourtales; to an old clergyman 
from Denmark, Herr von Jordans ; and to a young man, 
who, as I afterwards learned, was a painter, Raday by 
name. 

" The whole party was exceedingly amiable to me, prob- 
ably because I was a distraction to them. We conversed 
for a few minutes, and then Pirker came to announce with 
a deep bow that dinner was served. He was the only 
thing in the place to remind us that we were not in the 
presence of ordinary mortals! 

" Dinner was not laid in the dining-room; we stepped 
out upon a great terrace. One could not imagine any- 
thing more delightful than the view. All around were the 
dark green woods, separated from the house only by a 
lawn, dotted here and there with blossoming rose-bushes. 
On the terrace itself stood groups of orange-trees in tubs, 
with their golden fruit shimmering amid their green leaves. 
The air was impregnated with the scent of roses and 
oranges, pleasantly mingled with a faint odour of the 
coming meal, which reminded one of matters less poetical, 
but nevertheless very welcome to anyone as hungry as I 
was at that moment. The dinner was really excellent. I 
do not know why, I had an envious feeling that I must 
find something wrong, something to criticise. I could not 
resign myself to an admission that, for once in my life, 
everything was exactly to my taste. 

" We remained on the terrace, after drinking our coffee, 
until half-past eleven. A lovely summer night, with 
myriads of stars. Princess retired about nine o'clock. 

" July 12th. One can have breakfast between seven 
and ten. At half -past eight I was on the little veranda 
of the breakfast-room, as it is called. This room is a 
fine example of the old German stube [living-room] ; 
time-blackened panels on the walls; a big heavy table in 

98 



the middle, with high carved wooden chairs around it; 
along the walls the typical pewter-ware; in the windows 
leaded glass. All that was missing to complete the pic- 
ture was some old character of the right period, Hans 
Sachs, Albert Diirer, or the like. The veranda itself 
looked more like a summer-house, all overgrown with 
vines. 

" At the table Frau von Friese was already seated, and 
at her side the clergyman. Just as I arrived Princess also 
came in, with the Marquise de Pourtales. Everyone 
greeted the others ; a few words were exchanged, but soon 
silence reigned, for each of us was satisfying his or her 
hunger. The breakfast was an ideal one, to my mind. 
Our tea was brought round to us; but every thing else 
stood on the table, and we helped ourselves as we liked — 
to pale pink, home-cured ham, fresh crawfish, pate de foie 
gras, caviare, eggs, honey, cherries, strawberries, apricots, 
and cakes. The first to talk again was the old clergyman, 
who had been earlier at the table than the others, but grad- 
ually the conversation became more animated. 

" ' Please do not take any notice of me,' said Frau von 
Friese. ' You must excuse me while I make my daily 
notes in this book.' 

' We were still sitting when Pirker brought the morn- 
ing post to us. Frau von Friese said to Princess in a 
most matter-of-fact way, ' A letter from your mother.' 
Princess's face lighted up with joy. But Frau von Friese 
read the letter herself and put it on one side, as if this 
was the natural thing to do. I stared in amazement. 
Why did she not pass her the letter? Frau von Friese 
did not seem to notice my surprised glances. But Prin- 
cess did, for she looked at me, and I imagined that I could 
read in her eyes the words, ' You see what I have to put 
up with ! ' I cannot tell why, but suddenly a great feel- 
ing of pity for her came over me. 

" July lMh. Never could I have believed that I should 
feel so much at home as I do. Everyone does as one likes 
here. I only wish life could go on like this always! 

" Princess has an admirable character. It cannot be 

99 



easy to be uniformly patient when one has to do just the 
contrary of what one would like to do. . . - 1 

" July 15th. For the last few days I have been taking 
a walk every morning with Princess at seven o'clock. It 
is a lesson in psychology that I am supposed to give her; 
but while we call it psychology, we talk about everything 
under the sun. 

" She loves her mother fanatically, and in turn, it seems 
to me, is completely dominated even to the extent of 
tyranny by her mother's love for her. Everything the 
child thinks, she must try to remember so as to be able to 
repeat it to her mother. I asked her what obliged her to 
reveal her thoughts thus; whereupon she answered me: 
' For nothing in this world would I hurt my mother by 
refusing her anything.' 

" ' Princess, there is no question of that,' I said. i What 
the eye does not see the heart does not grieve for.' 

" ' Well, I shall never try to hide any of my thoughts 
from mother. And, besides, it is a great pleasure to me 
to tell them to her.' 

" ' Now, if I were in your place,' I said, ' I should tell 
what pleased me and keep the rest to myself.' 

" ' Dear Professor, if you were sitting in front of an 
angel like my mother, a person in whom you could never 
find the slightest fault, who was purer than all the world, 
could you then have the heart not to tell her all that she 
wanted to know — especially if you understood that she 
only expected this in order to be able to protect you the 
better? ' 

" ' Then, Princess, not one single idea belongs to you 
alone? ' 

" ' No, not one.' 

" A question came into my mind, but I did not know 
how to put it. Forgetting that, in spite of her grown-up 
ways, she was still but half a child — and my pupil to boot 
— I determined to ask it. 

1 1 realise acutely that I must ask the reader's indulgence when I repro- 
duce these compliments to myself. I have, indeed, cut out some sentences 
here and elsewhere, in which the Professor passes a judgment upon me which 
I feel to be unduly favourable. 

100 



" ' Princess,' I began, ' as we are studying psychology, 
there is a problem which I should like to ask you to solve.' 

"'Ask it, Professor; I hope I shall be able to give 
you a satisfactory answer.' 

" ' I am very bold, Princess, for I am going to ask you 
a question which even Her Majesty has never asked.' 

" I paused for a moment. Princess was walking a step 
ahead of me, and although I bent down to pull a blade 
of grass to induce her to stop, she did not do so. I put 
my question therefore. 

' Princess, did you never lie awake in bed? ' I asked. 

" On this she did stop for a moment, and she fixed 
a pair of astonished eyes on me, as if she now would ask 
me for the solution of an enigma. Did she understand 
me, or did she not? Still she said nothing, and I was 
forced to continue: 

' I remember you told me that you were once ill for 
a long time, and you had to remain in bed. . . . Princess, 
about what used you to think then? ' 

' Oh, about all sorts of beautiful things — things that 
one can never really experience in this world.' 

" The absolute candour of her reply was such as could 
only come from perfect purity of mind. 

' And you have shared all those dreams with your 
mother? ' 

' Mother once questioned me, Professor, in the same 
way as you ; but with this difference — that she wanted 
also to know all the details. At first I hesitated and — I 
will be frank, Professor — I even cried a little when I 
was forced to confess these thoughts of mine. But mother 
made me understand why I should confess everything.' 
' And you have never the slightest doubt, Princess? ' 

" ' A doubt about my mother? ' 

" I looked at her for a long time. She is a strange 
creature — so intelligent, and so independent, so quick- 
witted for her age, and yet, in spite of all this, her self- 
denial is so great. Again I had that peculiar impression 
I have so often had of her, that she really likes this life 
of self-denial and effacement. 

101 



" July 18th. The Empress is here now. The charm 
of our little society, strange to say, has only increased 
since she came. I imagined that everything would be- 
come stiff and uncomfortable, and am astonished. Of 
course she decidedly dominates all, but she would dominate 
just the same if she was not the Empress of Austria. 
She has a kind of triumphant grace about her; and what 
is so peculiar is that one can never for a moment think of 
her as an elderly lady. She is not in as good health as 
usual, and cannot gratify so much as she would wish her 
passion for mountain climbing. We have a great deal of 
music. Frau von Friese has a glorious voice, and Prin- 
cess accompanies her. The painter also sings very 
well. . . . 

" July 26th. To-day I had a walk with the Empress 
alone. After discussing all sorts of subjects, she said 
something which led to a long conversation: 

" ' People do not understand the way in which I treat 
my daughter. The day will come when they will under- 
stand my intentions. My method is obscure to you, too, 
Professor, is it not? ' 

" This brusque question took me by surprise, and I 
answered in some embarrassment : ' I admit, your Ma- 
jesty, that I don't entirely understand it.' 

" ' For instance, Professor, I allow my child so little 
freedom of thought.' 

" I could see that the topic had not come up merely 
by chance. 

" ' But it is really awful,' I blurted out, letting my 
tongue run away with me. 

" ' Awful? ' repeated the Empress. ' Awful for 
whom ? ' 

' Why, the Princess, your Majesty. This imprison- 
ment of the thoughts, just at the age when the fantasy 
is beginning to develop so rapidly. . . .' 

" ' Yes, and to bring with it mischief upon mischief. 
Is it wrong, then, if I talk over everything with my 
daughter and enlighten her in my own way, and keep 
from her the wrong impressions which she might get from 

102 



others? You call this imprisoning her thoughts, Profes- 
sor? ' She gave a low laugh, and continued banteringly: 
' Professor, do not look so gloomy. I am not in the least 
annoyed with you. On the contrary, I thoroughly under- 
stand you because you have the common point of view. 
But think, Professor, of the gnawing worm which eats 
into the heart of the child brought up according to the 
current ideas. Let us be logical. If a child does an ex- 
ercise badly or answers in a way it should not, we are 
allowed to scold, to punish, yes, even to whip it — are we 
not? Or if a child reads a forbidden book, we take away 
the book and we blame the poor child. But the Book of 
the Soul, which we read every night when we lie in our 
beds, which in our youth excites us so much sometimes 
that a cold perspiration runs down our foreheads; this 
book we must leave open for the child, with its restless 
imagination, to read. This is your view, is it not, Profes- 
sor, that we should not interfere? So that, in fact, all 
we must do for the moral education of the child is to give 
the outer surface-polish. We all forget our own youth 
so quickly, and we find it only too easy to say, "I let my 
child develop itself after its own instincts." Think over 
this, Professor. Remember how the worm has gnawed 
into your own heart. When the fruit is once attacked, 
there is no longer any hope for it. It must decay. And 
the moral beauty of the modern human being is in the 
same way attacked and decays.' 

" She paused, as if absorbed in the ideas which crowded 
in upon her. As for me, I was so startled and impressed 
by her words that I could not speak. But she did not 
expect me to answer, and continued: 

' My own life, too, has been devoured by the worm, 
only with time the ravages have gone so deep that they 
seem lost to sight. But I knew well the hardship of 
struggling against the forces of evil all alone, with no 
one to give counsel. What I have longed for all my life, 
and what I have never been able to get, this I want for 
my child — the true purity of the soul, the serenity of 
mind that comes from knowledge — in a word, peace. It 

103 



was at a time of dreadful loneliness, when I had nearly 
lost all hope in life, that destiny presented me with this 
child; and more by instinct than by reason I recognised 
that this was my work in life ; that for this purpose I had 
to come into the world. I educate my child with every 
impulse of my heart and soul. I agree that to strangers 
my methods may seem like tyranny. But that I do not 
mind so long as I am fortunate enough to be able to say 
that such an idea has never occurred to my child.' 

" We sat down on a bench, where both of us remained 
silent, until at last I felt that I must say something. 

" ' Your Majesty, it is worth the trouble you are taking. 
I really know the feelings that Princess has for you.' 

" At these words she smiled a little mockingly. 

" ' Have you not found out that I know this also? ' she 
asked; ' that she has told me of what you talked together? 
You yourself are something of a worm, you know, Profes- 
sor! However, you see, I am afraid of nothing. You 
can talk to her about anything you like, but just imagine 
the chaos in this young brain if a number of Professor 
Krauses were to talk to her, each with a different set of 
ideas, and she had to puzzle it all out by herself. How 
could she recover her peace of mind if every day brought 
new impressions and new views ? The end of it all would 
be a ruined existence, in spite of all her talents and good 
qualities.' 

" She was silent again, and I could find no words. I 
would have liked to listen for hours and hours to this won- 
derful woman. She seemed to have become quite a dif- 
ferent being in my eyes. This elegant creature, who had 
at first struck me as so fantastic and exuberant, this dis- 
tinguished and fascinating great lady, was, after all, but 
a tortured and unhappy woman. I felt myself over- 
whelmed with a respectful compassion for her august 
grief. What I had mistaken for an affectation, a pose, 
was perfectly genuine. Her melancholy was not only the 
result of her son's death ; it was of the very essence of her 
soul. The scales fell from my eyes. I held the secret of 
the long martyrdom of a life whose sadness had always 

104 



seemed to me impossible to explain. I knew now the in- 
justice of all those who affect to pity her without believing 
in her real unhappiness, and who make fine phrases to de- 
pict her as a type of Our Lady of Sorrows. 

" She is so great, so above all other women. Every one 
of her ideas is noble, to the extent that ordinary common 
humanity cannot understand them. She must suffer in 
the same way as an artist of genius who is denied recog- 
nition in his life, and has to wait for death to become 
known. With the highest ideals in her soul, she ascended 
to a throne ; and there ' the worm ' of which she speaks at- 
tacked her. There was no one to protect her against it, 
no one even to warn her. Had she but escaped she would 
have realised her ideal of what a woman, a mother, and a 
sovereign should be. Unappreciated as few persons in 
history have been, she gave up the fight. But she, of 
whom it has been lightly said that she is misanthropic, has 
spoiled her life by too great a love for humanity. She 
does not hate the people; she loves then too much. But, 
just as a rejected lover shuns the faithless and ungrateful 
object of his love, so she has shunned them, and like him 
again she pretends to feel scorn. 

" And now she has but one object; she wishes to save 
her child from her own fate. I hope with all my heart 
that she may succeed. It seems as if Fate would reward 
her for her admirable perseverance. . . . 

" Such were the ideas flying through my head, when the 
Empress got up, without speaking another word. Si- 
lently we walked towards the house, both of us deep in 
thought. 

"August 27th. The Empress has gone away again. 
It was a hard separation for both mother and daughter. 
I cannot understand why the Empress does not put an 
end to this torture. I even made a remark to that effect 
the morning before she left, but she answered : ' No, no ; 
that would be weakness, and quite against my views. She 
is not yet far advanced enough in her education for that.' 
Then, turning toward Princess, she said: ' She has both 
courage and good sense. Is not that so, Weiberl? ' 

105 



" Princess, who is usually so brave, only nodded her 
head. She could hardly keep back her tears, which she 
wished to hide for her mother's sake — and also, no doubt, 
because such a weakness is forbidden to her." 

This ends the extract which I am making from the 
Professor's diary. There are other pages detailing his 
conversations with Frau von Friese and the views which 
she imparted to him concerning the rigid discipline to 
which I was subjected. But further extracts would really 
add nothing to what I have already given here. 

CHAPTER XIII 

CONFIDENCES 

The days of this sojourn at Ischl, of which the reader has 
just heard what Professor Kraus had to say, were among 
the most delightful in my whole life. After my mother's 
arrival I could spend my time almost uninterruptedly with 
her. Our pleasure was not marred by those thoughts of 
a speedy parting that always brings with them the dread 
of leaving something unsaid which it is most essential to 
say. This feeling, so often with us, was absent now. 

But the shadows which overhung our lives, if less in 
evidence than usual, were not altogether away. Mother 
was not in good health at the time. She had many sleep- 
less nights. Through this, however, she spent them all 
the oftener with me. I would lie with her in her bed or 
sit by her until late in the night. To me this was a source 
at once of j oy and of surprise for she did not seem able to 
endure anyone else with her for long at a time. 

It must be admitted that she sometimes sorely tried the 
patience of those about her. But I cannot remember that 
she ever had an impatient word for me. What made me 
prouder still was that she, who was so sparing of her words 
with others, seemed never tired of talking with me. Even 
those most closely connected with her did not dare, or, 
perhaps I should say, did not attempt to hold long con- 

106 



versations with her, on account of her great weariness. 
Yet I could talk with her for hours without appearing to 
weary her. On the contrary, she would grow animated 
and refreshed. 

Once I asked her about this; and she told me that, in 
the first place, she liked the conversation of young girls, 
who seemed to her more unspoilt than anything else by 
the influence of the world — as though they still exhaled 
the perfume which Nature gives her sweetest flowers. 
And then, as I was moulded after her own ideas, in talk- 
ing with me she was, as it were, talking with her younger 
self. 

Further, our continual separations had a peculiar in- 
fluence upon her. With other people she was always 
conscious that she could see as much of them as she wished, 
with the result that she grew impatient and tired. With 
me it was like being in some favourite spot, where she was 
supremely happy, but from which she knew she must soon 
depart. Everything grew doubly dear from the fact that 
it must be left behind. My words were treasured up by 
her like the wild flowers from the woods, treasured in joy 
mingled with sorrow that soon they would be with her no 
more. 

Is it wonderful that I should feel happy at the remem- 
brance of her words? And have I not the right to think 
that, in all those years that we were together, there was 
no living being for whom she cared as she did for me? 

I cannot pretend to recall all the occasions of our con- 
versations or the exact words used. I was no Professor 
Kraus, to transfer to my diary the talk of each day. My 
memory goes back to some days, however, with the utmost 
vividness, and even the very words seem to me still to live. 
There was an occasion, not long before the time of which 
I have been writing I should imagine, when, as we sat 
alone together, I said to her suddenly, " Mother, do you 
love my brother and sisters as much as you love me? " It 
was one of those thoughtless, impulsive questions to which 
I fear that I was rather prone. I could feel, by my 
mother's trembling hands, how much I had hurt her. She 

107 



merely answered, however, that the others did not need 
her now. " And Rudy is no longer alive," she added in 
a whisper. 

My heart ached at the tone of her voice. I could not 
say a word, but lost control over myself, hid my face in 
her lap, and broke into sobs. Since the day when the 
servant had come into my nursery and said, " The Crown 
Prince is dead! " no mention of him had ever been made 
in my presence. I had never properly realised that my 
mother's only son, my brother, could be the same Crown, 
Prince who had died so many years ago. My thoughts 
were all in confusion. When I raised my face, I saw that, 
though mother had been weeping, she had mastered her- 
self again. She told me not to grieve over what I had 
said. For a long time she had been desiring the moment, 
when the last barrier between us might be broken down, 
and we might speak freely on these subjects too. It 
would do her good that I should ask whatever I wished. 

I was emboldened by her words and said, " Had Rudolf 
then been your favourite? " "He was my only son," 
she replied, " a boy with a heart of gold. The world into 
which he was born was not worthy of him, and his nobility 
and his faith in his friends cost him his life." " How did 
he die? " I asked. But she shook her head. " Weiberl," 
she said, " I cannot speak of this to you to-day. You must 
first learn something about politics and the creeping base- 
ness of it all." 

I went on to ask about my sisters, and pressed her to 
tell which of us she preferred. Gisela, she said, had been 
educated by her grandmother, and was married very 
young. Valerie, although nominally under mother's con- 
trol, was not brought up according to her wishes. Only 
with me had she the opportunity of carrying out her ideas. 
I was all hers, and therefore the nearest to her heart. As 
I heard her, I felt as if the highest of all decorations had 
been conferred upon me ! 

I shall now take the opportunity of speaking of my 
sisters, though it must be understood that what I say here 

108 



was not all told me by my mother at one time ; nor indeed 
all told me by her alone, as I shall have to refer to some 
events which happened after her death. Much of what I 
have to tell, however, was derived directly from my 
mother's own words to me. 

Of Gisela she never spoke much. The fact of her being 
brought up by the Archduchess Sophia made a great gulf 
between them. Then Gisela on her marriage in 1873 to 
Prince Leopold, second son of the late Prince Regent and 
brother of the new King of Bavaria, became a Bavarian 
by residence. Though visiting Ischl every summer, she 
had and still has her home in Munich. Her husband is 
a man of no great significance, and a strong contrast to his 
brother, King Ludwig III., who has both character and 
charm. Both husband and wife are good-natured, simple, 
and insignificant — and therefore happy. They have 
four children. The elder daughter, Elisabeth, created a 
sensation in 1893 by marrying Baron Otto von Seefried, a 
mere lieutenant in the Bavarian army. The Emperor 
Francis-Joseph gave a reluctant consent, but Gisela so 
strongly resented the match that she has not made up her 
quarrel with her daughter since. At the time of the mar- 
riage my mother was in Majorca, whence she telegraphed 
to the Emperor, advising that their grandchild should be 
ordered to Vienna — not to separate her from her hus- 
band, but to protect them both from scandal and hostility. 

Gisela's younger daughter Augusta married the Arch- 
duke Joseph, the elder of the two grandsons of Joseph, 
Prince Palatine of Hungary, brother of the Emperor 
Francis II. ; wife and husband thus being distant cousins. 

Of the two sons of Glisela and Leopold, the elder, 
George, married only two years ago Isabella, daughter 
of the Archduke Frederick and the Archduchess Isabella. 
The marriage was a very unhappy one, the bride running 
away after but two weeks. Having a genuine affection 
for her mother-in-law, she consented to return. But her 
husband's faults were too grave to be tolerated, and last 
year she succeeded in having the marriage declared void by 
the Supreme Court of Bavaria and annulled by the Pope. 

109 



The Emperor Francis-Joseph was very upset over the 
affair, and was almost made ill again. The other brother, 
Conrad, who is just over thirty and still unmarried, as yet 
has made no mark in history. 

Of Valerie mother always spoke much more freely than 
of Gisela. She felt bitterly the farce that had been played 
when it was pretended she should have the control of this 
her second living daughter. Even when Valerie was quite 
small this was really not the case. The ordinary relation- 
ship between parent and child was not allowed to exist. 
They did not even have their meals together. Valerie had 
from her earliest days her own servants and her own cook, 
who travelled with her wherever she went. So far was the 
separation carried that when mother went for a summer 
holiday to Feldafing, in Bavaria, for instance, she would 
stop at Strauch's Hotel (now the Hotel Kaiserin Elisa- 
beth), while Valerie must not be lodged there but in the 
house of the clergyman of the place. What intimacy 
could there be in a state of affairs like this ? 

Valerie was very timid as a child, so much so that mother 
found it difficult to extract from her what she really knew. 
Her education was not at all according to mother's wishes. 
It was one-sided. She was taught a great deal, while her 
character was given little chance to develop. She had 
many teachers and governesses, all of whom idolised her; 
not one of them ever treated her with the strictness neces- 
sary at times for a child's good. No doubt the fact of her 
being the youngest so long had much to do with the spoil- 
ing she received. But it was the educational system which 
was mainly at fault. Through an original gentleness of 
disposition she did not grow so capricious as to make the 
lives of those about her a misery to them. But she cer- 
tainly became in the end obstinate, self-willed and proud of 
her attainments. It was claimed that she was very clever. 
As a matter of fact, she was neither clever nor yet stupid. 
One of her teachers was the celebrated Joseph Levinsky, 
the Viennese actor and professor at the Conservatorium. 
He first taught her elocution, as she had a very weak voice. 
For long he could make nothing of her, and he was asked 

no 



to undertake her instruction in deportment as a princess 
— how to walk, how to carry her fan, etc. 

Such things as these she undoubtedly learned. And in 
the meanwhile her moral nature was starved. She was 
never shown how to go down deep into the human heart 
nor to understand the serious questions of life, which was 
my mother's idea of education. How, indeed, could she 
grasp the reality of sorrow, when charity was taught her 
by sending her out in a carriage at Ischl to throw sweet- 
meats to the peasant children? Although her intimate 
friends — among whom the principal is the Countess Kin- 
sky, born Aglae Auersperg, once not a little talked of in 
connection with the Crown Prince Rudolf — use the f amil^ 
iar Du (thou) to her, there is no free tone of equality in 
her friendship. 

Valerie was very simple in her tastes, with none of 
mother's raffinement. Although she writes poetry, she is 
very common-sense, and indeed bourgeoise. When she 
was taken to Corfu once by her mother, she said, as she 
entered the Achilleion, " I hope that you will not leave 
this to me, for, I shouldn't know what to do here with my 
children! " 

Her marriage took Valerie still farther away from inti- 
macy with my mother. Her husband, the Archduke 
Francis- Salvator of Tuscany, was also her cousin, though 
only a remote cousin, both being descended in the male line 
from the Emperor Leopold, elder son of Francis I. The 
common accusations of unfaithfulness and hereditary ill- 
ness cannot justly be made against Francis- Salvator. At 
any rate, they have a large family of children, and her 
cares as a mother have occupied much of the Archduchess's 
time. It is perfectly untrue that she is epileptic. 

Valerie developed political ambitions early, and in influ- 
ence over the Emperor, her father, soon displaced both 
mother and Gisela. Later, before the tragedy of 1914 
took off the Duchess of Hohenberg, the morganatic wife of 
Franz-Ferdinand, Valerie was an effective counter-influ- 
ence to the Duchess. Of the Duchess I shall have more to 
say in another chapter. Here I may mention that, while 

in 



she and Valerie both displayed bigotry in their religion, 
Valerie is sincere, franker, and less political in hers. She 
does not use her faith as a weapon in the prosecution of her 
schemes. 

The home of Francis- Salvator and Valerie is at Lich- 
tenegg. Valerie inherited my mother's chateau at Lainz. 
When she stays in Vienna officially, however, she resides in 
the Hof burg or at Schonbruun. 

CHAPTER XIV 

LUDWIG OF BAVARIA 

On a certain evening in the August of this same summer 
holiday, after one of those interminable dull and rainy 
days which are so frequent in the Salzkammergut region 
at this time of year, my mother decided to go to bed earlier 
than usual. She was still in poor health, and felt the need 
of rest. I came and sat at the foot of her bed. The scene 
comes back to me vividly. Our conversation had flagged, 
and for a few minutes there was no sound to be heard 
in the room except the splashing of the rain in the black 
night outside. My eyes wandered restlessly, and fell at 
last upon the portrait of King Ludwig II.; which mother 
had always on the table of her bedside, wherever she might 
be. 

My glance lingered upon the picture, and many thoughts 
passed through my brain. I had long known what a deep 
affection mother cherished for him, and had often won- 
dered within myself what was the reason for its depth. 
But I knew no details of his story — or, rather, I knew 
scarcely anything about him at all, except that people 
called him mad, and that mother always indignantly denied 
the truth of this; and also that he had a special passion 
for building palaces, to the ruin of himself and the great 
impoverishment of his country, it was said, though it was 
admitted that Bavaria had since reaped great benefit from 
these same palaces, which so many visitors come especially 
to see. As to how he had died, however, I had heard noth- 

112 



ing beyond that it was by drowning. I was very curious 
about it, particularly since my mother showed such pro- 
found respect for his memory, and, as I have told, im- 
pressed upon me that I should show the same whenever I 
might come to Munich. 

As these ideas went through my head again now, I 
broke out thoughtlessly, " Why were you so fond of Lud- 
wig of Bavaria, mother? " 

She started violently at my words, and I felt that I 
should have liked to bite off my foolish tongue. I seized 
her hands eagerly and kissed them, and then attempted to 
speak of something else. But she recovered her self-pos- 
session quickly, and in gentle tones told me not to feel un- 
happy. My question had indeed been unexpected ; but she 
would like to talk to me about him. She knew that I must 
feel bewildered, and it was time that I should be enlight- 
ened a little. 

Her voice was so soft and low as to be almost unearthly. 
There was in it the holy resignation of the martyr. A 
faint smile was on her face, by which she tried to reassure 
me — the smile of an angel. It passed swiftly, and I knew 
instinctively that the veil was about to be lifted this night 
from one of the saddest of tragedies. 

And now she spoke slowly and thoughtfully, as if she 
were recalling incident by incident the story of injustice 
and cruelty. Again I must state that I make no pretence 
of quoting the exact words, though it seems to me often 
that I hear them actually as they came from her lips. 

" He was not mad," she began. " They might as well 
call Louis XIV. mad, or any other man with great ideas. 
The person who was most to blame in the matter was Bis- 
marck. But, of course, one must not say so. Instead, it is 
common to throw the chief responsibility upon the Jesuits 
— who, for once in a way, cannot be justly saddled with it 
here." 

When it was proposed to proclaim the King of Prussia 
German Emperor, she continued, Ludwig opposed the idea 
strenuously. There was, indeed, for a moment a question 
of assigning the Imperial office alternately to the Kings of 

113 



Prussia and of Bavaria. But Ludwig was young and in- 
experienced, and at last he was prevailed upon by his ad- 
visers, and particularly by his uncle Luitpold, afterwards 
Prince Regent, to yield to the pretensions of Prussia. As 
time went by he regretted more and more deeply his ac- 
quiescence, and at last was capable of doing anything to re- 
conquer the rights which he had abandoned. By then the 
Emperor William I. was very old — nearly ninety — and 
illusions could no longer be cherished as to a long continu- 
ance of his reign. At his death Prussia had good reason 
to expect trouble. 

Bismarck had staked body and soul to win the Imperial 
crown for his own country, thereby himself becoming the 
actual ruler in chief of the German Empire. He could 
not have endured to see this power passing into other hands 
than his own, and knew that Prussia was not yet strong 
enough to keep it against vigorous opposition. The Iron 
Chancellor realised that if there was a man capable of re- 
sisting him, it was Ludwig of Bavaria. 

It is generally asserted that Ludwig was destitute of 
will-power. But this is false. On the contrary, he pos- 
sessed perhaps only too much of it. It is true, however, 
that he was not the man to make his way over the corpses of 
his enemies, calculating and relentless, like another Bis- 
marck. His generous heart forbade that he should act 
thus. It has also been asserted that he was of a suspicious 
nature. Alas ! if only this had been the fact, then his foes 
would not have found it so easy to triumph over him. But 
he was trusting. Indeed, he was no ordinary mortal. His 
soul was as pure as his body was beautiful. Perhaps that 
is why he was not allowed to live a long life. 

Bismarck, on the other hand, acted in a mean and cow- 
ardly fashion toward Ludwig. He could not challenge the 
King to a frank and open combat, with a fair field and no 
favour. He found it simpler and more convenient to 
weave round the King base and unparalleled intrigues. 

It was not his fault that more blood was not shed than 
was actually the case. His prime agent was the King's 
Chief Equerry, Count Holnstein, who acted as interme- 
nt 



diary between him and Prince Luitpold. Holnstein 
owed everything in the world to his king. He elected to 
play the part of Brutus. His is the eternal infamy of 
having conceived the idea of declaring Ludwig mad, after 
bribing for years everyone about him who was venal, and 
treasuring up every little scrap of paper, until finally he 
should be able to bring together a sufficient mass of evi- 
dence, so-called, to prove his charge against his master. 

Ludwig had many debts, said my mother. Anyone else 
in his position would have felt miserably ill, for what can 
be more humiliating than monetary difficulties? Ludwig 
had been brought up under a very bad system. Until the 
time of his eighteenth birthday they never gave him a 
penny of pocket-money. During the year which preceded 
that in which he was unexpectedly called to the throne, he 
was allowed a ridiculously small allowance of a few marks 
a week. And then suddenly he came into possession of su- 
preme power and a considerable fortune; thereby the last 
chance was taken from him of ever understanding the value 
of money. On his accession, moreover, not merely was 
his conduct approved by those around him, but the very 
smallest acts were extolled as great deeds. 

No wonder, then, that he long continued to believe that 
his power and wealth were illimitable ! Still, even if it be 
allowed that he did very wrong to squander all his fortune, 
where is the proof of madness ? A great part of the world 
would be an asylum if everyone who spent his money and 
ran into debt were to be treated as a lunatic. It is un- 
necessary to argue whether he did any good in his expendi- 
ture of money. What harm he did he came to recognise 
himself only too well. An act of abdication might have 
been obtained from him, as from his grandfather Ludwig 
I. It would only have been necessary to appeal to his 
feelings of honour and self-respect for him to consent in 
the end. 

But proceedings of this kind would have looked unjust 
in the world's eyes. The second Ludwig's errors had not 
been gross enough to make a forced abdication the only 
remedy. The assistance of a loan might be forthcoming 

115 



to put everything right for him. This was exactly what 
his enemies feared. Gradually all but a few of his at- 
tendants were corrupted, and all his ministers were in time 
won over to act against his interests, so that the offers of 
help finally made to him by the Orleans family and the 
Rothschilds were intercepted and never reached him. It 
is well known that in the last year of his reign Ludwig re- 
fused to give audience to his ministers, conduct which 
counted very much against him in Bavaria. But there was 
nothing really remarkable about it. The ministers were 
in the conspiracy and would come to him, he knew, not 
merely without advice, still less to offer help, but actually 
primed with injurious insinuations. 

And now we come to the fatal year 1886. I wish I 
could give the story, from this point at least, in my mother's 
own words as she told it that night at Ischl, so vivid and 
impressive, so full of emotion, so instinct with the tragedy 
of the affair. I listened as if hypnotised, and never spoke 
except to urge her to go on. 

The King had not returned to Munich in the spring of 
this year, as he usually did. He remained at his castle of 
Neuschwanstein. For more^than a month past all sorts of 
rumours had been flying about Bavaria. In the neigh- 
bourhood of Hohenschwangau there stood the old palace 
of the Knights of the Swan, rebuilt by Ludwig's father, 
and high above it Ludwig's own fine palace of Neuschwan- 
stein. The inhabitants were full of alarm and suspicion 
concerning a plot against their king. 

The general disquiet increased from day to day, until, 
very early on the morning of June 9th, it became known 
that during the preceding night a string of carriages had 
arrived at Hohenschwangau, from which a party of men 
had alighted at the old castle. It was a " commission " of 
ministers and doctors, who had come with the intention of 
forcing the King to sign an act nominating Prince Luit- 
pold to be temporarily Regent of Bavaria while his own ill- 
health compelled him to take a rest. As soon as Ludwig 
should have signed, the command of the Regent would have 
gone forth that he should be taken to Linderhof, on the 

116 



strength of a report which the doctors had already drawn 
up (without seeing him for the purpose) , to the effect that 
he was insane. 

The loyalty of a few faithful servants wrecked this vile 
plot. The King's own private coachman, Osterholzer, had 
made his escape from Hohenschwangau up to Neuschwan- 
stein and brought his master warning while there was still 
time to provide against the conspirators' arrival. When 
the commission — whose members were the already men- 
tioned Count Holnstein; Baron von Crailsheim, Secretary 
of State for Foreign Affairs ; Count Torring, a Councillor 
of State; Lieutenant-Colonel Baron Washington, 1 and the 
two doctors, von Gudden and M tiller — reached the castle 
of Neuschwanstein, accompanied by four keepers for the 
" patient," they found to their great annoyance the gates 
in the custody of the Royal Guards, who forbade admission 
to anyone whomsoever. After long parleying the King 
sent out word that he would see Count Holnstein alone. 
The arch-traitor made but a short stay in the castle. After 
one glance from Ludwig at the declaration presented for 
his signature, the ambassador was flung down the stairs. 
Ludwig had no doubt made up his mind to this drastic but 
well-deserved punishment when he granted the interview. 
Almost immediately afterwards the whole party was ar- 
rested on a charge of high treason by the old sheriff of the 
district, Sonntag, 2 who had arrived while they were at the 
gates. 

The conspirators seemed beaten. But Ludwig, over- 
trustful as ever, commanded that they should be taken un- 
der escort to Munich and kept there, instead of detaining 
them, as he should have, at Neuschwanstein. At the same 
time he sent an order to Baron Frankenstein in Munich to 
form a new ministry to replace the existing one which had 
betrayed him, and announced that he intended to come to 

ilt is worthy of note that both Holnstein and Washington (a descendant 
on his mother's side of the Grand Dukes of Oldenburg) had been playmates 
of the King as a boy. When Ludwig was sent a captive to Berg, it was to 
Washington that the charge of the household was given, though Dr. von 
Gudden was responsible for the " patient." 

2 Sonntag afterwards died of a broken heart because he had let his pris- 
oners go. 

117 



Munich himself to appear personally to his people of Ba- 
varia, on whose loyalty he relied. He could not start at 
once, however, as he had but few about him, and was very 
naturally doubtful about the fidelity of some of his serv : 
ants. He therefore telegraphed to his aide-de-camp and 
faithful friend, Count Alfred von Durckheim-Montmartin, 
to come to him immediately, and to summon to Hohen- 
schwangau without delay a battalion of the 11th regiment 
of Chasseurs, then at Kempten, whose attachment to him 
was known. The telegram to Durckheim, for safety's 
sake, was sent via Austria, whose frontier was only an 
hour's distance from Hohenschwangau. 

A second telegram was sent — to my mother. She was 
not in Vienna, nor, indeed, in Austria, but had been for 
some weeks in Bavaria, at Feldafing. This was a regu- 
lar resort of hers. In fact, she spent part of eighteen con- 
secutive summers there, stajdng at Strauch's Hotel, which 
I mentioned in the last chapter. Feldafing is only about 
twenty minutes' walk from Possenhofen, where she was 
born. Since the breaking off of the engagement between 
Ludwig and her sister Sophie Charlotte, mother had not 
been on the best of terms with her parents, which was the 
reason why she preferred to stop at an hotel rather than 
at Possenhofen itself. Ludwig spent his summers at the 
castle of Berg, on the opposite side of the Lake of Starn- 
berg, and was expected there this year — though not as he 
actually came there, alas! a miserable prisoner. The 
rumours which were flying about Bavaria had found their 
echo in Vienna, but it had been impossible for mother to 
get any definite news, especially as Ludwig in his letters 
to her always avoided all mention of his personal troubles. 
In her anxiety she left Vienna for Feldafing earlier than 
usual, hoping there to hear something certain. Before 
she left she obtained from the Emperor Francis-Joseph a 
solemn promise that if Ludwig should be compelled to 
take flight from Bavaria and seek refuge in Austrian ter- 
ritory he should be safe from capture. 

For many years Ludwig's courier, a man named Zan- 
ders, had been the medium of the correspondence between 

118 



his master and my mother. He had succeeded in gaining 
the confidence of Count Holnstein by pretending to act 
as a spy upon the King. Supposed by Ludwig's other 
enemies to be one of themselves, he was thus able to learn 
much and reveal it all to him. It was Zanders who 
prompted the faithful Osterholzer on June 9th to hasten 
to Neuschwanstein and give warning of the commis- 
sioners' arrival at Hohenschwangau. He was one of 
those entrusted with the task of bringing Ludwig a cap- 
tive to Linderhof as soon as he should have signed the 
proclamation. He had managed to upset this plan with- 
out betraying himself, and had reached Neuschwanstein 
with the rest of the party. With them he had been ar- 
rested and sent off on the road to Munich. When they 
arrived there all had been set free. Zanders then received 
orders from the conspirators to go at once to Berg and 
prepare the castle for the King's arrival. It had now 
been decided that Ludwig should be taken there instead of 
to Linderhof. 

Zanders went to Berg, but took the opportunity, very 
soon after his arrival, of hurrying to my mother at Felda- 
fing. He was broken with emotion as he told her what 
had happened at Hohenschwangau and of the King's in- 
tention of going to Munich when Count Diirckheim should 
have joined him. " They will not allow him to do any- 
thing," he almost wailed. " They will countermand all 
his orders, will put the Count in prison, and will rather kill 
His Majesty than let him speak to his people." What 
was to be done? Mother was almost beside herself with 
despair, and unable to think of a plan which promised suc- 
cess. It seemed too late now to convey the King from 
Neuschwanstein to the frontier. Possibly he was already 
on his way to Munich and into the hands of his enemies. 

As mother and Zanders were in agitated consultation, 
her Groom of the Bedchamber interrupted them to say 
that a special messenger was waiting to see her. It was 
Osterholzer. Ludwig, fearing that his telegram might 
not reach mother, had sent the coachman to Feldafing with 
a letter, in which he told her how things stood. He said 

119 



that he had sent a telegram to Bismarck, hoping to gather 
from his answer what his real intentions were toward him ; 
and another to the German Emperor, so that he might not 
later be accused of neglecting to appeal to his natural pro- 
tector. 

After receiving this letter, mother calculated that the 
King could not be proceeding to Munich that day, and 
that Osterholzer therefore would be in time to take him a 
message from her. She wrote to him to let events take 
their course, to allow himself to be made a prisoner and 
sent to Berg. From Berg it would be easier for her to 
arrange his flight than from Hohenschwangau. 

Osterholzer dashed off on horseback with this message. 
Meanwhile, what Zanders had expected had come to pass. 
Count Diirckheim, reaching Hohenschwangau about four 
o'clock in the afternoon, had received telegraphic orders 
from the Minister of War to return to Munich at once. 
While he hesitated, a second summons came to him, and 
as an officer in the Bavarian army he felt bound to obey, 
however reluctantly. On arrival at Munich he was at 
once arrested and sent to prison. As for the battalion of 
Chasseurs from Kempten, on its way to Hohenschwan- 
gau it was ordered to Munich, and the colonel, thinking 
that there had been some mistake at first, obeyed. In 
place of the loyal Chasseurs a detachment of gendarmes 
was dispatched to Hohenschwangau, with orders to sur- 
round the palace of Neuschwanstein and prevent the 
King's escape. 

Osterholzer succeeded in conveying mother's message 
to Ludwig. Poor man ! It was almost the last service he 
was able to render his master. But Ludwig was not con- 
vinced by what mother wrote to him. When he saw the 
gendarmes in the distance he took them to be his faithful 
troops. He was soon disillusioned ; and then he was com- 
pelled to recognise that the advice given to him showed 
the best and indeed the only way out of his troubles. 
Those about him, not knowing all, could not understand 
his sudden great calm. He did not even protest when Dr. 
von Gudden made his appearance a few hours later, and 

120 



said to him, in a very brusque and disrespectful tone: 

" In the name of the Prince Regent, your Majesty is 
my prisoner! " 

At the same moment the four keepers who accompanied 
him made as though to lay hands on the King. But with 
a simple gesture the latter put them aside. " Not neces- 
sary," was all he said. 

Ludwig was not even allowed to travel in his own car- 
riage. A special landau had been prepared for him, with 
iron bars at the windows, and straps on the seats to fasten 
him down by if it should be desired. He was scarcely per- 
mitted to take leave of his servants. When at the last 
moment he spoke to his weeping valets, Weber and Mayer, 
at the carriage-door, Dr. von Gudden addressed him as if 
talking to a criminal rather than a patient: " Be quick, 
please! We have no more time to waste! " 

It was now four o'clock in the morning, and Berg was 
reached at noon on Saturday, June 12th. The news of 
Ludwig's arrival was at once taken to my mother at Fel- 
dafing. And now there was very great necessity for 
caution if suspicion was not to fall upon Zanders. It was 
Osterholzer who brought the news from Berg. He re- 
lated that the unhappy King was lodged in two rooms 
which had hastily been fitted up like cells in a lunatic asy- 
lum. The windows had been barred, and holes had been 
made in the doors, through which the prisoner could be 
watched constantly. The dining-room had been con- 
verted into a bedroom for the doctor. 

Mother understood that she must act as quickly as pos- 
sible if the King was to be saved from utter despair. She 
had on this same day received a communication from the 
faithful Chasseurs that they were prepared to shed their 
last drop of blood for their King, and that a detachment 
of them was encamped at the moment near Feldafing, and 
was ready to help whenever called upon. On the follow- 
ing morning, Whitsunday, mother met Zanders by ap- 
pointment in the woods by the lake side. He told her 
that Dr. von Gudden was to go to Munich that afternoon 
to make his report, and would not return until next day. 

121 



He himself had won over one of the keepers, promising 
him the protection of the Empress of Austria if the plot 
should fail, though that was very unlikely. 

The King was in a desperate state of mind already from 
his imprisonment, Zanders said ; so that it was decided by 
mother to take advantage of von Gudden's absence and 
bring about the rescue the very same evening. A boat 
was got ready and hidden in the rushes off the shore of the 
park at Berg. Ludwig was to ask permission to take a 
short walk in the park after sunset. The keeper who had 
been won over would accompany him. On reaching the 
boat the King would row over to a spot on the opposite 
shore between Possenhofen and Feldafmg, where a car- 
riage and four would be waiting in the cover of the woods. 
Then, escorted by the Chasseurs, the King would drive off 
at once into Austrian territory. It was to pass under 
mother's windows at Feldafing, so that she would know 
that Ludwig had been saved. 

At this point in her story, I well remember, mother 
stopped in great emotion, with her hand to her heart, and 
when she went on it was in a voice that was barely audible. 
" I was waiting in my bedroom when the clock in the 
neighbouring church-tower struck nine. I had retired 
early, and my suite had all left me at my request. Ten 
o'clock struck, and still I was waiting. • Nothing was to be 
seen or heard, and the suspense was almost driving me 
mad. Something ghostly seemed to fill the air. Was it 
the moon, shining out mistly after a day of rain, that 
caused those white shapes to glide over the waters of the 
lake? A deathlike silence reigned everywhere around the 
hotel, and I seemed to be the only thing alive. Sitting at 
the open window of my room, I felt as cold as ice from 
head to foot, and shivered repeatedly. The clock struck 
midnight. Not another sound still. What could have 
happened? " 

Suddenly there came footsteps under the window. 
Springing up, mother leant out. 

" Where is the King? " asked a low voice. 

She understood that it was one of the keepers who was 

122 



standing there. She told him to come inside, having al- 
ready arranged that one of her suite should open the door. 

" Where is the King? " she asked in her turn when the 
man had been admitted, and stood trembling before her. 

" I hoped to find him here," he stammered. 

" What has happened? Why has he not come? " 

The poor fellow looked at her aghast. At last he man- 
aged to tell how he had accompanied King Ludwig to 
within a hundred paces from where the boat was hidden. 
There he was ordered to turn back, while the King went 
on alone to the water's edge. He obeyed, but made his 
way slowly homewards, after turning his head. Suddenly 
he saw a man, whom he recognised as Dr. von Gudden, 
jump from out of some bushes and run towards the King. 
The latter sprang into the boat, but, though he had time 
to unfasten the rope which secured it to the shore, the 
doctor was upon him at once. A violent struggle ensued, 
the boat swayed more and more, and finally it capsized, 
and threw them both into the water. The keeper said that 
he thought that they both succeeded in swimming clear, 
but that the darkness prevented him from seeing more. 

" The King is dead! " shrieked my mother, and fainted 
away. 

Even as she told me now, ten years later, she broke 
down completely; and pressing me convulsively to her 
heart, she cried: " Terrible, terrible! In him I lost more 
than anyone can ever know — and in him, Weiberl, you 
lost your best friend ! " 

This account of the facts connected with King Ludwig's 
death, which my mother told me with her own lips, differs 
at almost every point from the official statements and 
widely also from the generally accepted version of the 
story; if, indeed, one can speak of a generally accepted 
version, when such a variety of accounts is offered by the 
biographers of the King. But to me my mother's story 
is convincingly true. 

It seems that the projected flight of the King was be- 
trayed to Dr. von Gudden at the last moment, so that he 
had no time to send word to Munich. He did not wish, 

123 



on the other hand, to reveal his knowledge to the other 
guardians of the prisoner at Berg the existence of a plot 
making him uncertain who was on his side, who on the 
King's. Moreover, there were already disagreements and 
suspicions between the doctors. He therefore attempted 
to stop the escape single-handed. (Whether he had 
started to go to Munich and returned, or never set out at 
all, I do not know.) One thing may be said of him for 
certain, that he sacrificed his life to his duty, miserable as 
the duty of the doctor-gaoler may have been. It is un- 
just to his memory to accuse him — as he has been ac- 
cused — of wishing to murder the King. Had he so de- 
sired, he could easily have found some criminal instrument 
without risking his own life. 

After the keeper gained over by Zanders saw the boat 
overturn he had run down to the shore and wandered ir- 
resolutely along it for a time. The boat drifted out of 
sight, and nothing else was in view. He waited long, hop- 
ing for a sign of either the King or the doctor. He might 
easily have gone for another boat near at hand and rowed 
himself over to the Hotel Strauch. But as it was still 
fairly early he feared to be seen from the castle of Berg. 
What he did, therefore, was to wander along until he came 
to the village of Starnberg, at the head of the lake. Here 
he ventured to take a boat and rowed over to Possenhof en, 
where he landed and hurried on to the neighbouring Felda- 
fing. He reached the Hotel Strauch after midnight, and, 
as has been heard, came to my mother. Her protection 
had been promised to him by Zanders ; and besides he may 
really have thought that the King had escaped. 

My mother's piercing shriek, " The King is dead! " 
awakened the whole hotel. Some explanation had to be 
invented to avoid comment and suspicion, and accordingly 
the story was given out, and has been repeated ever since, 
that on the same night that King Ludwig lost his life, the 
Empress Elisabeth had a nightmare vision of her cousin 
dead by drowning, and woke out of it with her terrible 
cry, " The King is dead! " 

124 



QHAPTER XV 

my "military year"; and first love 

I now resume the story of my own life, interrupted for a 
time to tell of things more interesting and important. 
Towards the end of August, 1896, my mother had to leave 
Ischl for Vienna to be present at a grand reception given 
to the Tsar and Tsarina of Russia. Our parting on this 
occasion was harder than ever it had been. She was still 
far from well, and was unusually depressed. I felt that 
the strain of separation was almost too much for her 
strength. Now she would again have no one to give her 
affection like me in the long sleepless nights when she was 
alone with her grief and pain. It was really remarkable 
how much better she was when she had my company. 
Her restlessness diminished, and she was able to sit or lie 
still for spells at least. 

On the last day of her holiday she said to me: "It is 
only for a short time, darling. We must have patience. 
Our separations will soon be over. As we have endured 
them so long, we will not throw up the game now! " 

I whispered through my tears that it was only on her 
account that I was grieving. For myself, to whom no 
hardships came, I could bear it better. But she herself 
had told me how terrible was the solitude in which she 
seemed plunged, in spite of the devotion of those about 
her. 

For a moment a cloud seemed to pass over her pale 
forehead — only for a moment, for it quickly vanished. 
But she told me I must never make a remark like that, 
which might give numbers of poor souls mortification who 
put themselves to great trouble for her. In my presence, 
she continued, she never tried to hide her real feelings nor 
to disguise her sadness when she was sad. But what 
might be natural enough with me would only humiliate her 
with others. 

When she spoke so gently and lovingly to me, I really 
would have liked to kneel before her. In spite of all her 

125 



sufferings, she was still beautiful and youthful-looking, 
especially when her magnificent hair was loose. As she 
looked then, so must the Madonna have seemed at the time 
of her Son's crucifixion. Certainly it would have been a 
truer picture than those in the churches, where the Virgin 
is represented as young as on the day when the Redeemer 
was born. 

White still suited my mother wonderfully, especially 
her white dressing-robe. I remember one morning beg- 
ging her to undo her hair that I might let it glide through 
my fingers. This was also a great sacrifice for her, but 
with a smile she granted my request. 

On the day of her departure we remained for a long, 
long time together, I sitting at her feet with my two arms 
about her waist. For the last half -hour neither of us ut- 
tered a word. When we rose, the eyes of both were filled 
with tears. We looked at each other, and our gaze said 
more than any words that we could have spoken. We 
were both in unusually low spirits. Was it because the 
clouds so soon to envelop us were even now casting their 
shadow over our lives? Who can say? 

As it was many years since she had last made a public 
appearance in Vienna, her visit at this time aroused the 
curiosity and interest of the people to a remarkable de- 
gree. The Court, also, was at least as anxious to see her 
as to see the Tsarina. Upon her return, she brought me 
some mementoes of the festivities — flowers, sweets, rib- 
bons, bonbonnieres, etc. 

She told me her impression of the Empress Alexandra. 
" Poor young woman," she said, " some day perhaps she 
will be even more unhappy than I have ever been. There 
is a fatal melancholy about her expression, which touched 
me to the depths of my heart. She, too, has a mother-in- 
law who will not make life too easy for her — another of 
these ambitious creatures ! " She also said that the 
Tsarina, when she greeted her, cried with sheer nervous- 
ness. 

In October I returned to Vienna. The coming edu- 
cational year was intended to have an important bearing 

126 



on my future and was the strictest of all so far. " This is 
be your ' military year,' " said Frau von Friese to me. 
" Contact with young ladies such as you met at your b9ard- 
ing-school is all very well for the first drill, but now you 
must go under a severe discipline. Now you must learn 
to be democratic and mix with the poor creatures who do 
not go to school to amuse themselves, but because they will 
one day require to earn their daily bread." 

She had discussed everything with mother. Her ob- 
ject was to let me know as early as possible what went on 
in the great outside world of those who were not born to 
prosperity. " To learn to depend on oneself " — that was 
her great principle. 

This time, she told me, I was not to have anyone at the 
school to look after me specially. I was to see the world 
after the fashion of Peter the Great. My incognita must 
be observed even more strictly than before. I must 
simply take care of myself and try to imagine as nearly 
as possible that I was just as humble as those with whom 
I mixed. 

So it came about that every day henceforth I had to 
spend several hours in a public sewing-school, the Frauen- 
erwerbverein, amongst girls all of the lower, some even 
the poorest, class. I must confess that it was not very 
pleasant to me; indeed, every day brought some new tor- 
ture. In spite of the greatest self-denial on my part, it 
was recognised from the very first that I was not of the 
same class as the others, and that I had no real business 
at the school — for which reason I had a very hard time 
with the teachers. 

We were seventy girls in a room, sometimes even more. 
The hours were from eight to twelve in the morning and 
from two to four in the afternoon. We were taught to 
sew, cut out, and design in a practical way. During all 
that time we were not allowed to eat anything but dry 
bread, in order not to soil our work. But Frau von Friese 
had acted rightly in sending me there. I had a sudden 
insight into a corner of the world into which I had never 
looked before. My eyes were all at once opened to the 

127 



depth of human misery. How thankful I felt that this 
so-called " military year " was in reality only a case of 
" playing at soldiers," compared with the life of the other 
weary, hungry-looking beings, who were but at the begin- 
ning of their discipline of sorrow. For the first time I 
began to appreciate the luxury which surrounded my life. 
In the evening, when I lay down in my bed, I would not 
immediately turn out the light. With an indescribable 
sense of comfort I looked round upon my room. How 
beautiful it really was, with its plants and flowers, its lace 
curtains in the windows, its heavy Smyrna rug on the 
floor, and its dainty white bed and soft white woollen 
covers ! Then I would think to myself how unjust all this 
was. Here I lay, surrounded by all this luxury, without 
having done anything all my life ! I was utterly ashamed 
of myself. 

I used to recall fragments of the conversation of my 
poor classmates. " My God, my feet are frozen," one 
would say. " But I've got to stick it this month in these 
worn-out old shoes. It's my turn next month. Our 
young Ferdy wanted some so badly^ he couldn't do with- 
out them no longer." " What are you grumbling about? " 
another would retort. " Anyhow, you've got a warm 
coat. Mine hasn't even a lining! " 

And I, for all my " military year," was protected 
against all kinds of weather. If it was very bad, I drove 
in my carriage to a neighbouring street — although I must 
add that after I first heard such a conversation as the 
above I absolutely refused to drive to school. Neverthe- 
less, on my reaching home, the first thing my maid did was 
to bring me a pair of warm slippers. 

My ideas became very democratic, as those of young 
people just entering the world of ideas usually are. I de- 
sired even to reduce my household ! I was quite disgusted 
with the ceremonious attitude of my old butler when he 
was serving at table. Every silver dish offended my eye. 
As much as possible, I denied myself all luxuries. 

Mother always endeavoured to be in Vienna on St. 
Charles's Day, so as to spend it with me. She arrived this 

128 



time at the end of October, and came to see me on the 31st. 
Usually she brought me a lot of presents, jewelry and 
trinkets — besides the six-carat diamond which was given 
me on my nameday * each year. But this year, at my own 
request, she gave me very little, and consented instead to 
my carrying out an idea of helping my classmates, which 
I had confided to her. In fact, with her habitual charity 
she improved on my original idea. She told me to find 
out all the poor girls who could not afford to buy warm 
clothes, and to get their addresses; then we would send 
them, anonymously, everything they needed. This we 
did, mother adding a hundred florins for each girl. They 
never discovered who the donor was. This name-day was 
the most joyful in my life, for I was happy in the thought 
that so many of my classmates were happy too. I should 
have been very glad to bestow upon them all real fortunes, 
but naturally I had to curb my desires. 

On December 4th of this year mother suffered a great 
loss in the death of the Mistress of her Household, Count- 
ess, Goess, perhaps her dearest friend. I question very 
much if their great intimacy was known even to those in 
close contact with my mother, as otherwise the Countess 
would most likely have been removed. Through the 
hands of the latter, many secret correspondences and com- 
missions were conducted. 

Mother had left Vienna at the end of November, after a 
sta3^ of a month, and it was in Paris that the news of her 
friend's death reached her. A few days afterwards it 
was announced that the Empress of Austria was very ill 
with neuralgia, and that physicians had been sent from 
Vienna to Paris to attend her. During her illness I suf- 
fered the most poignant anxiety. Few people could have 
guessed that this sudden nervous attack of my mother's 
was really the result of shock at the removal of her old 
friend. 

After she had to some extent recovered, she went to 
Biarritz, where she remained in the utmost seclusion until 

i The name-day, that of one's patron saint, is far more important in Aus- 
tria than the birthday. I do not even know the date of my birthday. 

129 



the middle of January. From Biarritz she went to Men- 
tone as usual. She was accompanied by the Countess 
Szaray, General von Berceviczy, and her new secretary, 
Merkati. 

This winter yet another new world opened to me of 
which I had no idea till then. I fell in love — rather 
prematurely, I fear, for I was only a girl of fifteen. It 
was a naive little episode, but the ending was unfortunate. 

Laura Kaiser had a few girl-friends, for of course she 
had not been kept in as strictly as I. Up to this time, 
after leaving Fraulein von Gunesch's school, I had visited 
nobody except Elsa von Thyr, with whom I still remained 
great friends. One of Laura's friends, however, I had 
known slightly almost ever since I could remember. We 
had played together several times as small children in the 
Volkgarten. Her name was Clarisse Mayer. Her par- 
ents were very wealthy and kept house in great style. 
Her mother was a handsome woman, very fashionable 
and fond of society. Clarisse herself had not been a 
pretty child, and for this reason her mother treated her 
rather badly, with the result that she was more than a lit- 
tle shy. I do not believe that I had ever exchanged more 
than a dozen words with her while we were playing at ball 
or bowling our hoops together. As Laura did not care 
much for her I had few opportunities of seeing her. But 
now that we were nearly grown up, the season of parties 
arrived for us, since it is customary to give these in Vien- 
nese high circles to teach girls how to behave in society. 
The Mayers' house, in spite of the mother having no wish 
to play the chaperone too early, promised, in this respect, 
to be one of the most amusing, and this was sufficient 
reason for Laura to cultivate Clarisse more closely now. 
Of course these people believed that I was Laura's sister. 

I usually spent Sundays at the home of my guardian. 
One Sunday, however, Mrs. Kaiser said to me, " You are 
invited to a girls' party at Clarisse's house this afternoon." 

As Frau von Friese was spending the day with friends, 
I could not go to ask her permission. 

" Do you think that Frau von Friese will have anything 

ISO 



to say against my going? " I asked. 

" Oh, what a fuss you always make! " Mrs. Kaiser re- 
plied. " I have accepted for you already. I would not- 
have done so ; but, if you are not too good to mix with such 
a mob as you have in your school now, you surely can go 
to Clarisse Mayer's. Anyhow, I will take the responsi- 
bility upon myself." 

I was not altogether convinced. In my heart I felt 
that there was a great difference between a school and a 
strange house. On the other hand, my scruples appeared 
ridiculous; for what danger could be there? And, be- 
sides, I had been to so few entertainments that I had an 
inclination to go on that account. 

In addition to Laura there were some cousins of 
Clarisse's and a few other girls, all of the same style — 
that is to say, all very prim and proper under the eye of 
Clarisse's governess, of course. We played games until 
tea-time, and then we all sat around a big table in the 
dining-room, where tea was served. In the middle of 
our meal Clarisse's mother entered the dining-room, ac- 
companied by an exceedingly good-looking woman, and 
behind them a young man of about twenty-five 3^ears of 
age. This was the first time in my life that a young man 
had ever been introduced to me! He was very tall and 
handsome, but not what is called a beau. There was a 
gaiety and brightness about him, especially in his brown 
eyes, in which there was always a glimpse of laughter. 
His features were regular, and his hair brown and wavy. 
But the most pleasant thing about him was that he him- 
self was obviously quite indifferent as to what impression 
he was making. In short, he was one of those few peo- 
ple who win their way at first sight by the frankness and 
simplicitjr of their demeanour. 

There were about twelve girls in the room. He seemed 
rather amused at being the only man in this society of 
half -grown girls. I have never been one of those who 
believe that a girl must fall in love with the first man she 
meets ; and I should not be telling the truth if I pretended 
that he made any serious impression on me that day. 

131 



After tea I talked awhile to him. The girls played the 
piano and danced, and I had a few turns with him. I 
learnt that his name was Ferdinand Fellner, and that he 
was the son of a famous architect. 

Upon my return home I told Frau von Friese every- 
thing that had happened. She was not very pleased at 
my going to the Mayers'. But, being a Very tactful 
woman, she did not outwardly express her disapproval; 
and, as I did not say very much about the young man, she 
did not worry. 

A few days after this I went to my guardians', accom- 
panied by somebody — I do not remember whom. I had 
just walked through the hall to the staircase, when sud- 
denly I heard someone a few steps higher up than myself 
saying: " How do you do, Fraulein? I have taken the 
liberty of calling on your parents. I was very sorry not 
to have met you." 

I can only say that I behaved very awkwardly. I stam- 
mered something in my confusion, but it was so unintelli- 
gible that the young man did not know what to answer and 
merely bade me good-bye. 

Upon my return home I spoke to Frau von Friese of 
this incident also. I discussed it so freely that she was 
not much impressed; or perhaps she acted upon the prin- 
ciple of not paying too much attention to it so as to avoid 
arousing my interest. 

Several weeks after this there was a dance given by 
Elba's mother. At first I was refused permission to go. 
I felt hurt, but did not dare to complain. Elsa, however, 
begged and begged, and I joined her so far as to ask Mrs. 
Kaiser to intercede for me with Frau von Friese. I had 
been so submissive at the sewing-school, and had behaved 
so irreproachably, that Frau von Friese thought fit to re- 
ward me by allowing me to go. Without my knowledge 
she had already written to my mother, asking her per- 
mission. Mother left the decision entirely to Frau von 
Friese. And so I was told that I might go. 

In the evening, when I arrived at Mrs. Kaiser's to go on 
with her to the dance, she laughingly remarked that she 

132 



had had an invitation sent to Mr. Fellner to please me. 
I turned pale and then blushed, but at that time I was 
totally unconscious, that I was in love. 

This was my first real dance, although I had studied 
dancing since I was six and was quite good at it. On my 
entrance into the ball-room I stood stiffly in front of the 
row of chaperones, who all sat against the wall. Of 
course, I was dressed in white — white silk, trimmed with 
white chiffon. On my shoulder was pinned a large pink 
rose. My long fair hair was plaited and done in a coronet 
round my head, just like mother's. I could not help feel- 
ing rather pleased with my appearance. The first person 
introduced to me was the brother of one of Elsa's friends. 
He looked at my programme and seemed surprised to find 
it quite empty. He asked me for the Polonaise. Gradu- 
ally my card filled up, but I was unceasingly watching the 
entrance to the ballroom. The Polonaise began, and my 
partner came to fetch me. When he again took up my 
programme to write his name I had only a few dances 
vacant. 

" The supper quadrille is no longer free," I suddenly 
exclaimed, in a tone full of anguish. 

No sooner were the words uttered than I regretted them, 
and I blushed with shame. But my daring was rewarded 
at once, for immediately after I saw before me two spark- 
ling brown eyes in a laughing face. Something seemed 
to be choking me. Then I heard someone say: " Good 
evening, Fraulein; I am so sorry I am late. Have you 
reserved a dance for me? " 

" The supper quadrille," I replied precipitately. 

" But that is really very charming of you — to show 
such consideration for me! " 

My naivete probably amused him very much, but I did 
not notice it, poor little innocent that I was, setting out 
upon the sea of love with all sails spread. I was happy, 
gloriously happy, as I had never been before in my life. 
Does one really know anything about happiness until one 
falls in love? 

I would have preferred not to dance any more, all the 

133 



others were so tiresome to me ; but of course that could not 
be. To my first partner, who had also put himself down 
for the fourth quadrille, I was very rude, for when he 
came to fetch me I am sorry to say I made a grimace. 

One little incident which occurred this evening is worthy 
of record. An old general (whose name, unfortunately, 
I never knew, since at the time I was not sufficiently in- 
terested to ask it) came up to me and said: "Do you 
know, my dear young lady, I have sat here for ever so 
long studying you. I really cannot overcome my amaze- 
ment." 

I was so happy at the moment that I could have laughed 
in the old gentleman's face. Still I asked him at what 
he was so amazed. 

" Did no one ever tell you that you resemble Her 
Majesty the Empress?" he replied. "Such a striking 
resemblance! " 

In spite of my gaiety I was embarrassed, and remained 
silent. He noticed my embarrassment and went on: 
" Well, does not what I say please you? You know, she 
has been one of the most famous beauties. It is not so 
much your features — and you are fairer. But there is 
something about the mouth, the shape of your head, your 
forehead. And it is not altogether that, either. It is 
the poise of your head, the back of your neck, your move- 
ments, which remind me of her." 

But now I had quite recovered my self-possession, and 
I asked, "Did you know her well? " 

" Oh, in earlier j^ears, when the Empress was young, 
I had many opportunities of seeing her. And I had also 
the great honour of being presented to her. You remind 
me so much of her in her youth." 

I did not know how to answer this, so I only smiled. 
Thereby I inadvertently discovered the right way to amaze 
the old general still more. 

" Good heavens! " he exclaimed. " The smile, too! I 
think I must be going mad." And without waiting to 
say an3^thing more, he went away, shaking his head like 
one who has seen some marvellous apparition. 

134 



CHAPTER XVI 

PLANS FOR MY FUTURE 

Now followed days of great happiness for me. I thought 
of nothing any more except Ferdinand Fellner. At 
school, during my lessons at home, on my walks, in fact 
every hour of the day, he was in my thoughts. I would 
have liked to have told everybody — and yet not for the 
world would I have mentioned it to anyone ! I was rather 
ashamed of my love. Much as I thought of him, however, 
I saw him very little. There was nowhere that I could 
go to see him. I did not visit anywhere. Once or twice 
I met him on Mrs. Kaiser's reception-days, just enough 
to keep the passion smouldering. But really I did not 
confess all this to myself at the time, especially as he did 
seem to pay any more attention to me than to any other 
of the girls. I was too proud to admit the truth. As the 
weeks passed by I thought myself cured, and told myself 
that it had all been imagination, that this was not a case 
of real love. 

All this time, mother was on the Riviera, so I had no 
opportunity to speak to her about it. Almost at the end 
of March I went with Frau von Friese to Territet, in 
Switzerland. Mother had written to Frau von Friese 
the following letter : 

" I simply cannot endure it any longer. It will soon 
be four months since I last saw her. It is more than I 
can bear. I cannot spend this spring in Vienna, as my 
health makes it necessary for me to go to some watering- 
place. So I should have to wait an eternity to see her. 
But, since she is now such a big girl, the interruption in 
her studies will not harm her a great deal. To get away 
from that dreadful school for a while will be a great relief 
to her." 

So once again I passed a whole month with mother. 
We lived in the same hotel, and every morning from seven 

135 



to half-past eight we walked out together. The first 
thing she did, of course, was to put me in the confessional. 
For my part, I told her at once all my experiences, but 
so as not to alarm her I added that my whole love-story 
had only been an affair of the imagination; because, had 
it been a case of true love, I should not have recovered 
from it so quickly. 

" Weiberl," said my mother, " I trust that you are too 
reasonable to deceive yourself as well as me, and that it 
was really only a passing fancy." 

Her words were accompanied by an anxious, sorrowful 
look. It was far from my desire, however, to give a 
serious turn to this affair, and so I merely laughed to put 
her at her ease. 

Mother's illness now seemed to weary her more than 
ever. She was tortured with sciatica. For hours and 
hours she would lie awake at night. But she was always 
patient as an angel and never complained. That silently 
borne pain made such an impression upon me that I can 
never forget it, and even to this day I seem able to bear 
any pain myself by remembering what my mother had to 
undergo and her quiet fortitude through it all. 

My many diversions drove my love-affair into the back- 
ground for the time being. We made constant excur- 
sions into that beautiful country, and the scenery alone 
was enough to make one happy. And mother was still 
really the only person for whom I lived. When I examine 
my feelings tp-day, I can truthfully assert that in the 
affair with Ferdinand Fellner I did not deceive her or 
myself. To be all alone with her, day after day, made 
me happy beyond a wish. At that time I would have 
given him up without even a sigh, my only idea day and 
night being mother. She, on her side, spoiled me now as 
never before. Upon every possible occasion she showered 
presents on me in a way which she had not hitherto. Up 
to this time I had not been very much spoilt in this respect. 
Mother did not want to make me too vain. I always re- 
ceived beautiful Christmas and name-day presents; but 
until this year, 1897, she never had given me anything on 

136 



other occasions. Now she bought me all sorts of beautiful 
things, by which she thought to give me special pleasure. 

Nor had I ever yet had any money of my own, even 
though sometimes, as mother held in her hand her purse — 
that oblong leather purse that she always carried — I 
might look longingly at it. On such occasions, when my 
desire became too evident she would say to me : ' What 
are you looking so intently at my purse for, you greedy 
little girl? You should be quite happy that you have 
nothing to do with money." 

To which I might perhaps reply: "Oh, mamma, it 
must be lovely to buy something by your own self! " 

Once, when my longing for a purse of my own was more 
than usually keen, she asked me, I remember: 'What 
do you want to buy? If you wish for anything you have 
only to speak to Frau von Friese, and if it is anything 
reasonable you will get it." 

I was not able to buy even a bunch of violets, I com- 
plained, if I should fancy it. By speaking of flowers, I 
suppose, I thought I should soften her. 

" Babe, don't be childish," she answered. " You have 
plenty of flowers. If you want more, you have only to 
speak to Frau von Friese, and the florist will send you all 
that your heart can desire." 

Yes, but sometimes in the street, I said, there might be 
a flower-girl, or some poor boy selling spring flowers, 
and I was unable even to buy a bunch from them. 

Was I not always with someone who had money, some- 
one who might give me enough credit to lend me a small 
sum of money? " However," she continued, " if your 
heart is really set upon this, I will give you so much." 
With these words she opened her purse, and carefully, 
with two fingers, fished out a ten-kreuzer piece (about 
twopence-halfpenny, or five cents), which she handed to 
me with an amused smile. 

I do not think she was ever so liberal to anyone else ! I 
have mentioned already this strange little trait in her 
character, that with all her generosity of heart and charity 
she hated to part with small sums. This time at Territet 

137 



was the first occasion on which she ever gave me a con- 
siderable sum. She had promised to go with me on April 
10th to a little farm, famous for its beautiful hand-made 
embroidery, the work of the peasant-women. At the last 
moment she was prevented, by the unexpected arrival of 
Archduke Franz-Ferdinand, who, on his way to Montreux, 
wished to pay her a call. She came early to tell me that 
she could not go to the farm. I was both disappointed 
and angry at the change in our plans, and was at no pains 
to conceal my feelings. I do not think that mother was 
much better pleased. 

I should go with her there another time, she promised; 
but to make up for the disappointment now I might, if I 
wished, go and spend the day with Frau von Friese at 
Lausanne. And for once in my life, I might buy some- 
thing that I liked, and pay for it myself. As she spoke, 
she produced her familiar oblong purse, and took there- 
from — to my surprise and delight — a twenty-franc gold 
piece! With this, the first money I ever spent on my- 
self in my life, I bought a manicure-set. 

Every day of this visit to Territet we were together at 
least in the mornings, when our walks were directed prin- 
cipally through the sombre stretches of gigantic oaks 
which surround the place. In the early morning the 
forest exhaled a delightful fragrance, and the stillness and 
quiet of the glades seemed the natural consequence of the 
fairy revels which must have been held in them the night 
before. 

"How beautiful is this forest!" exclaimed mother one 
morning. " These giant trees, which may have stood here 
for centuries, are a connecting link between the present 
and the past. If they could talk, what strange stories 
they might tell us of the Valkyries, and the warriors and 
heroes of bygone days, who may have trod where we are 
now treading." 

The remark seemed not so much addressed to me as 
the unconscious utterance of her private thoughts. Or 
was she talking with her dead friend, the only real friend 
she ever had, the only one to whom she would lay bare her 

138 



soul without any reserve? 

I had begun to realise what Ludwig of Bavaria had 
meant to her. And I understood better still when she 
began talking to me about him again on one of these 
mornings at Territet. 

" Weiberl," she said, " you cannot imagine what a 
noble being he was — far too noble for this world. He 
understood how to enjoy life as few people do. He 
revelled in it with the prodigality of a genius." 

I asked her if it was true, as people sometimes said, 
that he had helped Richard Wagner in his operas. 

No, never, she answered. Besides, Wagner had written 
most of his works before Ludwig came to his assistance. 
But still, perhaps, without him Wagner the musician 
might never have become Wagner the great. Not only 
was the merit of discovering Wagner's greatness Lud- 
wig's, but Wagner himself admitted that near the King 
he became a different person. Far more important than 
the mere material aid given to him were the spiritual in- 
spirations which Ludwig brought to him through his own 
noble individuality, and the atmosphere with which he sur- 
rounded him. The sublime masterpieces of Wagner were 
all his own; but, if his music helped to rouse Ludwig's 
poetical nature, Ludwig in his turn could accompany 
Wagner to wonderful regions whither others could not 
follow him. He admired him intensely, and it is this 
admiration which genius requires to make it expand. 
Ludwig arranged splendid feasts for him, with the sole 
intention of giving inspiration to his muse. And he was 
the most charming host imaginable — when he loved his 
guests. 

" Mother dear," I asked, " were you often his guest? " 

Of course, particularly when she was at Feldafing, she 
replied. During the last years of his life, when he was 
so overburdened with debts, he used to shut himself up to 
avoid his ministers, who harassed him terribly. But she 
and he always continued firm friends, and it made her 
very happy that at the moment she came near him he 
seemed to forget all his troubles. Their little luncheon- 

139 



parties, tete a tete, would always remain among the pleas- 
antest memories of her life. They generally took place 
on Rose Island in the middle of the Lake of Starnberg. 
Every dish and every flower on the table were of his selec- 
tion. Nothing was too good for those for whom he cared. 
He would have given his life for them. How cruel it was 
that he should have to die ! 

" He at least suffers no more," she concluded, " but we 
two remain ... to mourn for him." 

Many a time on our walks, after having spoken of him, 
she would repeat, " He is no longer with us . . . but we 
must mourn for him." 

We left Territet on April 27th for Geneva; or, rather, 
mother left on that day, and I followed her on the 28th, 
as she had arranged to spend a day at the chateau of 
Pregny, a few miles from Geneva. The Baroness 
Adolphe Rothschild had given her an invitation to come 
over to Pregny and see her hot-houses, which she now took 
the opportunity of doing. 

On the night of the 28th we stayed together at the Hotel 
Beaurivage, Geneva. Here, as usual, I crept from my 
bedroom to hers to spend the evening with her. But she 
was so restless and nervous that it ended in my remaining 
with her all night, and sleeping with her in her bed. It 
was on this night that she first spoke to me of the measures 
which she had taken to provide for my future. 

" Thank God ! " she exclaimed, in accents of great weari- 
ness, " these continual separations are soon coming to an 
end. I am beginning to grow quite impatient, and I long 
for the day when I can have you openly at my side." 

My only answer was a sigh, and, seeing how sad, I 
looked, she went on to assure me that there was not very 
long to wait now — only through the next winter. In the 
meantime we must both of us be reasonable. My educa- 
tion must receive the finishing touches, to fit me to resist 
the temptations which awaited me. I had no idea yet of 
the extent of the intrigues of Court life. I must acquire 
more self-control and stability to live among these people 

140 



without falling a victim to their snares. Vienna was the 
most difficult of all Courts. Men valued their friends only 
for the profit to be derived from them, and sacrificed them 
without a scruple when it seemed advantageous to their 
own interests. It was a great mistake to suppose that 
there were fewer crimes committed at Court nowadays than 
in former times. The only difference was that to-day the 
methods Employed were more complicated, but none the 
less scandalous for that. In the face of all this she trem- 
bled for me. She wanted to protect me. But she never 
had any talent for intrigues. She was powerless even to 
meet those directed against herself. She had always been 
too confiding, and it was still impossible for her to believe 
anyone capable of treachery without indisputable proof. 
That was the real reason for her reserve towards everyone. 
She had alwaj r s to be on her guard against falling into a 
trap. Happily they bothered little about her in their in- 
trigues now. She was no longer interesting enough ! But 
she suffered sufficiently in hearing how they sold and be- 
trayed others. 

" How happy I shall be," I exclaimed, " when at last 
I can be always at your side." 

" Don't you think I also shall be glad, Weiberl? " she 
answered. " I shall find more rest then, and shall be better 
able to remain in one place. We will pass our winters in 
Corfu together. I love Corfu, though it always makes me 
melancholy. It is too vast and magnificent for me. But 
with you there it will be quite different. How unspeak- 
ably happy I should be with you there ! And how you will 
love the spring, when everything there is in flower! " 

Then she gave a great sigh and fell suddenly into melan- 
choly again. 

" Dearest, dearest mother," I hastily asked, " are you 
not feeling well? " 

" Perfectly well, Weiberl," was her reply, " only these 
things seem to me such castles in the air. I cannot think 
that such happiness is for me. I cannot think that such 
a thing as peace still awaits me on this planet. So many 
years life has been a burden to me that now, when it has 

141 



regained its value, I cannot believe that all will come 
right." 

I was trembling all over, and vainly striving to hide my 
anguish. I understood only too well what she meant but 
avoided saying; she feared that, at the moment when life 
again meant something for her, death the inexorable would 
carry her away. She looked pityingly on my distress, and 
said: 

" Weiberl, don't be alarmed; I was foolish to speak like 
that, but the thought that something like that might hap- 
pen has weighed upon my heart for a long time past. Do 
not allow my foolish fancies to worry you. After all, 
everything has been foreseen and provided for. In case 
of my sudden death before I am able to take you oitt of 
your retirement, I have all the documents at Lainz, ex- 
plaining everything concerning you. Amongst these 
papers s^re directions written by my own hand concerning 
your future. These also state openly why I did not wish 
to rear you in the poisonous atmosphere of the Court — 
you, my last-born child! " 

At these words I burst into tears, and hid my sobbing 
face on her breast. 

" Weiberl, be reasonable," she said. " Why do you 
cry ? I am not dead yet, dear. But is it not wiser to take 
precautions? " 

She ceased, and a deadly quiet seemed to pervade the 
room, which oppressed me by its silence. Her words 
sounded like a farewell. And so, in a measure, they were ; 
for sixteen months later in this same hotel, probably in this 
very same bed, she passed away for ever. 

CHAPTER XVII 

THE COURSE OF LOVE 

On the day following that of the melancholy conversation 
which I have just reported I left for Vienna. My mother 
accompanied me to the railway station, but returned pur- 
posely (for these precautions were still necessary) to spend 

142 



the da}^ in an excursion with the Countess Se^^ey. Then 
she came on to Vienna by special train at an early hour 
in the morning. 

She only remained in Vienna on this occasion for ten 
days, during which period I saw much less of her than 
usual. My sister Gisela had come over on a visit from 
Munich, and mother's health was very poor. Her doctor, 
indeed, advised that, instead of passing the spring as she 
regularly did at Lainz, she should go to Kissingen for a 
cure. 

Short as was her stay in Vienna, during it she received 
a very severe shock. My youngest aunt, Sophie-Char- 
lotte, Duchess of Alencon, was burnt to death in the ter- 
rible fire of the Bazar de la Charite in the Rue Jean 
Gougeon, Paris. On May 5th mother came to me in the 
morning to say that she had had very bad news, a telegram 
announcing that Aunt Sophie was missing after the fire, 
and that it was feared she had perished. 

Of the girls in the Bavarian ducal family Sophie had 
naturally been the pet. My mother's junior by ten years, 
she was still a small child at the time of the Imperial wed- 
ding, and mother continued always to look upon her as a 
child — as elder sisters will. A certain estrangement had 
been produced between them, I have already said, by the 
rupture of Aunt Sophie's engagement in 1867. Various 
legends are current about this rather strange affair. 
When it was announced at the beginning of the year that 
King Ludwig was engaged to his young cousin, the Ba- 
varians as a people were well pleased. But at Court 
the case was different. There was a great deal of jealousy 
and intriguing against the Duke's daughter, especially on 
the part of some of the King's immediate relatives. When 
the postponement of the wedding — which was only a 
diplomatic way of stating that it was not to come off at all 
— was announced in September, the country was upset, 
while the Court rejoiced. 

Aunt Sophie had not done anything very awful to pro- 
voke the King to break off the engagement. She was, 
however, rather too lighthearted and irresponsible for the 

143 



idealistic Ludwig. He interpreted her little mistakes as 
evidence of a grave lack of tact^ if nothing worse. And 
the intriguers, of course, did their utmost to poison his 
mind against her. He made no excuse to the Duke for 
rejecting his daughter, and communicated his decision 
very abruptly, simply stating that he would now never 
marry. The Duke Maximilian was terribly offended. 
He was a very ambitious man with regard to his daughters' 
marriages, taking their happiness, apparently, very little 
into account. My aunt Marie-Sophie, Queen of Naples, 
never even saw her husband before her union with him, 
and was married by proxy at the age of fifteen — to be 
sadly disillusioned when she reached Naples, and found 
what manner of man was King Francis. The Duchess 
Ludovica was still more ambitious about her daughters 
than the Duke. The whole family was very much upset 
at Sophie-Charlotte's misfortune, and very angry with 
King Ludwig. But my mother's affection for Ludwig 
was unaltered, and this was the cause of coldness between 
her and the rest of the family, especially Aunt Sophie her- 
self. Yet she continued to feel towards her a semi-ma- 
ternal love, and her death aroused very painful associa- 
tions. 

The effect of the new shock was serious to mother's 
health, although it is most cruel to pretend, as some do, 
that at this time she was in the least degree out of her 
mind. The truth is merely that she was overwhelmed with 
grief, and could think of nothing else. She was so utterly 
miserable and restless that she simply fled to Kissengen, 
where she hoped to find a little peace. 

Now Frau von Friese, too, had been ailing all the 
winter ; and although she also was one of those rare persons 
who never complain, I knew that she was not as usual. 
Mother, who could so well read the people for whom she 
cared, had several times during our stay in Territet re- 
marked how ill Frau von Friese looked. Again and again 
she pressed her to declare the nature of her illness, only to 
be met by the assertion that it was nothing serious. My 
governess grew more miserable daily, but after our return 

144 



from Territet, seeing what trouble mother had of her own, 
she continued to conceal her condition from her as before. 
She also concealed it from me for fear I should tell my 
mother. Soon after mother had left Vienna, however, 
she suddenly broke down from the strain she had under- 
gone. To me this was perfectly unexpected; and even 
now I had to guess at the state of affairs, for all details 
were kept secret from me. I was told merely that Frau 
von Friese was ill, not how serious her illness was. She 
still went about eveiy day, for lying down seemed to make 
her worse ; so that I was buoyed up with a false hope about 
her. My despair can be imagined, therefore, when one 
morning, about a week after mother's departure, she said 
to me: 

"My dear, I am going home to Denmark; I hope it 
will do me good." 

I threw myself on my knees beside the couch where she 
sat, and clasped my arms around her neck, crying, " Frau 
von Friese, Frau von Friese, you are more ill than you care 
to let me know." And I began to sob. I implored her 
to tell me the worst. I would tell mother. But no, I said 
again, I would not, for her sake; she had already all the 
grief she could bear. Only let me know what was the 
matter. 

In spite of her pain, Frau von Friese could not forbear 
a smile at nry nervous anxiety. " Darling, don't take it 
so tragically," she said. " I hope to be much better after 
my trip home. Promise me to be reasonable." She had 
intended, she continued, to speak to my mother before she 
went away. However, when she saw how trying the last 
few weeks had been for her, she decided not to do so, but 
to arrange everything herself. She would not be away 
longer than a month. For this short time I would be 
under the care of Mrs. Kaiser. She had written the pre- 
vious day to my mother, telling her not to be alarmed and 
asking her permission to take a short holiday. She had 
begged forgiveness for not having informed her of her 
condition before, since she had only concealed her illness to 
avoid giving her any fresh trouble. She knew mother 

145 



would have worried about finding a suitable place for me 
while she was away, only to come in the end to the same 
decision as herself — that is, to leave me in the care of the 
Kaisers. Even if Mrs. Kaiser was not very reliable, there 
was no one to whose care she would more willingly entrust 
me than Mr. Kaiser. 

Mother sent her answer by return of post. What could 
she do but agree ? It was certainly very hard for her. In 
her kindness of heart always unwilling to hurt anyone, she 
did not complain; but in the few lines enclosed for me, in 
her letter to Frau von Friese, I could detect how miserably 
unhappy she was. She wrote : 

" My only Darling, 

Frau von Friese must leave you for a short time. 
There is nothing to be done but to- leave you at the 
Kaisers'. Dearest, be careful of yourself, and beware of 
all dangers which may surround you. 

Your Mother." 

My grief was profound, not merely because I was sepa- 
rated from both mother and Frau von Friese, but still 
more from the knowledge that the two persons whom I 
loved most in the world were both at the same time ill and 
unhappy, while I was unable to be of the slightest assist- 
ance to either. 

Although Mrs. Kaiser and Laura were both most kind 
to me, and tried their best to cheer me up, the first few 
da}^s were almost unendurable. Still, it was May, and in 
May Vienna put on all her beauty as no other capital in 
the world could. Then its parks, with their splendid 
drives, bordered by long avenues of stately chestnuts with 
velvety turf and exquisite flower-beds about them, stood 
forth in glory. Then the Prater became the rendezvous 
of Viennese high society. Then the Freudenau, at the 
time of the races, was a blaze of fashionable magnificence. 
On every day there was a great stream of carriages along 
the Hauptallee (the principal avenue of the Prater), in 
which could be seen the equipages of all the old aristocratic 

146 



families, those proud names which made the Viennese 
Court world-famous for its pride and exclusiveness — the 
Liechtensteins, the Montenuovos, the Schwartzenbergs, 
the Metternichs, the Fiirstenbergs, the Kinskys, the Har- 
rachs, and a hundred other illustrious houses, whose fame 
is inseparably interwoven with history. 

At the beginning of the Hauptallee were the coffee gar- 
dens and restaurants where the citizens resorted to spend 
their leisure in social gossip, to the accompaniment of the 
famous Viennese waltzes and the Austrian folk-songs 
played by military bands. Here, under the stately trees 
whose Jeaves whispered strange tales of past glories or 
mournful defeats, the middle-class frequenters gathered to 
enjoy their beer and cheese, or drink their coffee and eat 
little Viennese rolls, in full view of the great avenue along 
which the carriages of their more privileged fellow-citizens 
passed. Often must some young girl, walking by her 
mother's side, have sighed with envy as she saw her more 
fortunate sisters driving by in splendour. 

Far down the avenue, quite away from the other cafes 
and standing aside from the Hauptallee, was the Krieau, 
a sort of idyllic little farm planted in a great park. Here, 
in spite of its simple appearance, you could get anything 
just as at any other place. This was the exclusive resort, 
patronised only by the most distinguished people in art, 
literature, finance, politics, and society. It was here that 
all the noble dames and cavaliers came to sip their coffee, 
their tea, or their chocolate, in aristocratic seclusion, and 
to rest from their drives. For a couple of hours in the 
afternoon empty carriages with impassive footmen and 
beautiful horses surrounded it. You would imagine your- 
self at the entrance of a theatre rather than outside a 
restaurant. As the habitues were all more or less known 
to one another, the assembly was like a daily tea-party 
given by the same hostess — a very different kind of place 
from such a rendezvous as the Pre Catalan in Paris, for 
instance, huge, full of strangers, and unfriendly, unless 
you bring your own friends with you. Very few for- 
eigners knew of the Krieau; but it was none the less one 

147 



of the most interesting and curious resorts in Vienna in 
spring. Here you might see the city's haute volee in in- 
timate intercourse. Here wit and beauty reigned su- 
preme. Here, quite at their ease, and without the stiff- 
nessness inseparable from formal gatherings, they gaily 
chatted of social events, political affairs^ or the latest 
theatres. The fashionable costumes combined with the 
gay badinage to produce an atmosphere of frivolity; and 
the stranger surveying the scene would readily have be- 
lieved that the passage of time in Vienna brought to all 
nothing but prosperity and pleasure. 

And now it was spring, and of course the Krieau was 
the one desirable resort for Laura and her mother. So 
several times a week we drove down the Prater and had 
tea there. This was done, perhaps, as much for my pleas- 
ure as for theirs; and certainly, in spite of my worry, I 
rather enjoyed the new world thus introduced to me. 

On one of our very first visits to the Krieau, as we were 
sitting with a few lady friends of Mrs. Kaiser's, I sud- 
denly heard a voice behind me saying : 

" Good afternoon, ladies." 

At the sound of the voice I was as though struck by 
lightning. I felt myself grow cold and pale, and then 
hot, as the furious blushes covered my face. A strange 
kind of excitement came upon me. I knew, as will easily 
have been guessed, that Ferdinand Fellner was there . . . 
and it was spring. 

After this we met nearly every day, although always 
with Mrs. Kaiser and friends of hers. We never saw one 
another alone nor for more than half an hour on any occa- 
sion. Yet even this was sufficient to cause me to fall com- 
pletely in love with him. It was very wrong of Mrs. 
Kaiser to countenance these meetings, but her foolish good- 
nature made it impossible for her to foresee the conse- 
quences. And perhaps, too, she hoped to distract my 
attention from my sorrows. From the day of our first 
meeting I did, indeed, begin to grow more cheerful. To 
my youthful imagination it seemed that it was the hand of 
fate that had brought me once more under the care of 

148 



Mrs. Raised that we might meet again. Suddenly the 
sombre hues of life were changed. 

There were other reasons, too, for the dispersal of my 
gloom. Toward the end of May I received a letter from 
mother. She wrote that her stay at Kissingen had bene- 
fited her very much, and that she was about to leave for 
Schwalbach, where she proposed remaining during the 
month of June. Frau von Friese also wrote that, though 
her health was not yet satisfactory, the mere fact of being 
once more in her native land, among her own people, made 
her feel better, and she was very hopeful for the future. 
Why then should I not be happy ? And, despite my great 
affection for Frau von Friese, I knew that were she to 
return I should no longer be able to meet Ferdinand Fell- 
ner. The flight of 3^ears had developed my independence 
of character, and at a moment like this my heart cried out 
for freedom. With Frau von Friese at hand such a thing 
would have been impossible. Under her strict discipline, 
what a sad figure I should have cut, had I even dared to 
hint that I was in love ! She would probably have resorted 
to extreme measures — and doubtless she would have been 
right. But nevertheless my love was rather that of the 
child than of the woman. It was not even platonic. If 
I must analyse my feelings, I should say that I was in 
love with the physical beauty of Ferdinand Fellner, for 
his mental qualities ( it seems to me nowadays ) were rather 
mediocre. Yet there was never in my mind the slightest 
thought of approaching nearer to him. A kiss was un- 
thinkable. To place my hand in his would, in my inno- 
cence, have brought no feelings of self -consciousness or 
shame. There was nothing for which I can really blame 
myself. 

A great part of June passed, and found me still await- 
ing Frau von Friese's return to join my mother at Ischl. 
But toward the end of the month I received a letter from 
mother, in which she told me that Frau von Friese was 
about to undergo an operation, and consequently would 
be unable to return for about six weeks. How desperate 
should I have been at another time, and how calmly did 

149 



I now receive the news ! Yet I could not help feeling re- 
gret when I read the following in mother's letter to me : 

" All this is so unexpected, my poor child, that, being 
at this distance, I am unable to make any different arrange- 
ments for you. I know that Mr. and Mrs. Kaiser in- 
tended to travel this summer, and I do not like to cause 
them to change their plans for my sake, much as I should 
have preferred to know that at any moment I wished for 
news of you I should find you always in the same place, 
instead of at some hotel without either me or Frau von 
Friese at your side. For a moment I thought of sending 
you to Ischl under Fraulien Hain's and Pirker's care; but 
this is impossible without Frau von Friese. Moreover, it 
would cause deep offence to Mr. Kaiser, and as I cannot 
afford to make any enemies, I suppose I must submit. I 
ought to be accustomed to it by this time, but — cest plus 
fort que moil I know that it is silly, and that nothing 
will happen. It is probably the state of my nerves which 
causes everything to appear to me in so tragic a light. As 
for you, my dear Baby, be reasonable, and do not be too 
much grieved at all this. Such is fate, and we must bow 
to the inevitable. Let us hope that Frau von Friese will 
soon recover and that you will be able to join me shortly. 
Towards the 15th of July I am going to Ischl. After a 
short stay there I shall go to Karrersee in the Tyrol. 
About a month later, after August 18th if nothing occurs 
before then, I hope to be able to let you come. Oh, dar- 
ling, I dare not think that I shall be unable to see you 
for such an eternity." 

This last sentence was like a cry of grief to me. I felt 
so miserable; but what was I to do? She had written 
" such is fate," and as for my fate, did I not think I knew 
what that was to be ? 

For the time being I had to part from Ferdinand Fell- 
ner, who promised to meet us again toward the end of 
July, or early in August, at the little summer resort of 
Veldes, in the Carnic Alps. I am afraid my greatest 
anxiety was lest Frau von Friese might recover too 

150 



> 

quickly, and so spoil my well-laid plans. How selfish and 
frivolous I had become ! 

I enjoyed the journey greatly. For the first time in 
my life I travelled like an ordinary tourist, halting at 
various places on the way, #nd stopping at charming 
hotels, where I was not obliged to remain in my own room, 
but had my meals like the others in the public dining- 
rooms. Now at last could I thoroughly understand my 
mother's passion for travelling, that passion which made 
ignorant people call her mad. 

We spent several weeks journeying through the prov- 
ince of Salzburg, and a great part of the Tyrol. For- 
tunately for my plans, Frau von Friese recovered slowly, 
and wrote that she would be unable to travel before Au- 
gust, so that I could look forward with pleased expectancy 
to our little sojourn at Veldes. 

We arrived there in the last days of July. Veldes is a 
pretty little place on the shores of an emerald-green lake, 
and is surrounded by majestic peaks, covered by the ever- 
lasting snow. There are — or were then — only a few 
villas; but there was the cosiest little hotel imaginable. 
On the day of our arrival we made the acquaintance of 
all the other guests in the place, so that it can readily be 
understood that their number must have been limited. 
There were just enough to make it interesting; about forty 
or fifty in all. But if the company was small, it was all 
the more select. There was not a single uncongenial per- 
son in the little circle, not one whose presence was un- 
desirable. It was the height of the season, and so there 
were every day picnics and excursions, as well as dancing, 
bathing, and tennis — at that time fully established in 
fashionable society. 

A few days after our arrival Ferdinand Fellner joined 
us. His stay was limited to three days, for he had to join 
his regiment at Agram to serve his requisite four weeks. 
Short as was the time, we had more opportunity here than 
in Vienna for untrammelled conversation. Yet the charm 
of the situation lay rather in the growth of our mutual 
feelings than in anything that was said between us. I 

151 



really wonder sometimes to-day why I found this young 
man so fascinating. From my childhood I had been 
serious and meditative, while he did not seem anxious to 
utter two reasonable words consecutively. It must have 
been the contrast between us which attracted me. His 
exuberant cheerfulness and his gay lightheartedness, so 
typically Viennese, were a revelation to me. He touched 
a new chord in my life, one which my education had never 
touched, but had left undiscovered. I had never noticed 
before that my life had been so terribly strict, not to say 
austere. Indeed, I did not realise it even then. I only 
felt extremely happy. During these three days we were 
constantly together, always in the company of others, yet 
always alone. Three days together in the country brings 
people nearer than three years in the city. Onlookers 
might have thought that we spoke of nothing but love, 
whereas, as a matter of fact, not one word of love passed 
our lips. But I was so innocently stupid that I never 
for a moment imagined things could have been different. 
I knew that I was in love — and that was all I knew about 
love. 

On the last evening of his stay at Veldes there was a 
little dance. The heat of the evening caused many of the 
guests to seek the fresh air outside. Feeling rather tired, 
I looked for rest and seclusion farther down the terrace, 
where it jutted out into the lake. I was all alone there. 
Behind me was the glittering hotel, from which came 
snatches of laughter and strains of music softened by the 
distance ; before me lay the darkness of the lake. Above, 
the myriads of stars looked down in soft radiance on the 
world, and all around the gentle breeze played, enveloping 
me in its cool freshness. The deep hush of the outer night 
was broken only by the croak of the frogs in the adjacent 
meadows or the quick splash of a leaping fish as it fell 
back upon the surface of the lake. Suddenly a shooting 
star flashed along the blackness of the sky. I bethought 
myself of the superstition that a wish made before it faded 
out of sight would be fulfilled; but before I could settle 
what the wish should be the glittering meteor had disap- 

152 



peared into the darkness. Was I then so " wunschlos 
gliicklich," as we say in Germany, so " wishlessly happy "? 
Perhaps. 

Into the dreamy peace of my introspection there broke 
the sound of a quick, light step, drawing nearer, and then 
I heard Ferdinand Fellner's voice saying: 

" I have been looking everywhere for you, and now at 
last I find you in this solitary corner! What are you 
doing here? Has mamma been scolding you so that you 
have come here to get over it; or are you admiring the 
moon and the stars? " 

" Nothing of the kind," I answered laughingly, " only 
sometimes I have the feeling that I cannot breathe among 
all those people, that they are keeping all the air from me, 
and then I run away." 

Out on the lake some one was playing on the horn 
' When the moon shines bright." Oh, the memories of my 
childhood, the happy times long gone by! It was as 
though mother were sending me a signal through this 
song, which she had so often sung to me when I was a 
little child. 

All of a sudden I started. A slight breath touched my 
hand, which was resting on the arm of the basket chair in 
which I was sitting. Quickly I withdrew my hand. I 
felt myself changing colour, but I could not speak. I had 
a sensation of choking, and my eyes were filled with tears. 
I touched the back of my hand as if it had been wounded. 
In the darkness all this was invisible to Ferdinand Fellner. 
At my silence he burst into laughter. Then he clasped 
me to him and pressed ardent kisses on my lips. Vio- 
lently I tore myself from him and fled. 

For half the night I could not sleep. I was too excited. 
I did not know whether to laugh or to cry over what had 
happened ; but after a time I felt very happy. Now I was 
sure that he loved me. At this idea every fibre of my 
being quivered with joy, and my cheeks were burning. 

However, my happiness was troubled. I felt as though 
his kiss were visible, like a scar upon my lips. The next 
morning I did not dare at first look Laura or her mother 

153 



in the face. 

Unfortunately, Fellner was leaving the same morning, 
and I had no further occasion to speak with him alone. 
He breakfasted with us, was as gay as usual, and behaved 
as if nothing extraordinary had happened. Then he left, 
and I was alone with my reflections. One minute I would 
say to myself that there was nothing in such a kiss, that it 
was only my ignorance which made me think it seriously 
meant. The next I remembered that he had pressed my 
hand at parting, and had said, " Take care of yourself, 
and be good." He had said the same thing in Vienna 
when we separated, but that was before the kiss. For 
more than a week I wearied myself out with my thoughts, 
and things remained unchanged, save that the passing days 
served to increase my infatuation as well as my longing to 
see him and ask him what he had meant. 

While I was thus troubled, Mr. Kaiser announced one 
day at lunch that he had had news from Frau von Friese, 
who was returning from Denmark. I was to meet her at 
Villach on August 14th, and to go on with her to Karrer- 
see, where we were to join my mother. He informed me 
also that they were returning to the neighborhood of 
Vienna, to stay near the Semmering. 

This news was not unexpected to me, but in spite of 
that, on hearing it, I blushed, choked, and was speechless 
for a moment. I recovered myself as quickly as possible, 
pretending that it was my joy which had momentarily 
robbed me of my voice. After the first shock my pleasure 
was indeed unfeigned, and as soon as I had had time to 
realise the situation I was even glad of the opportunity to 
tell mother everything. But it was not only joy that I 
felt. I reproached myself for not having thought of her 
at first, and suddenly felt how I had neglected her in not 
before asking her advice. And yet at this my heart sank. 
Could I not guess what would be her advice? How blind 
I had been! Who was this young man, and who was I? 
My only answer to these questions was a despairing sob. 

On August 15th I arrived at Karrersee, where mother 
had already been a few days. She had left Ischl a week 

154 



earlier than usual on account of the disastrous floods pro- 
duced by the unceasing rain, which had rendered further 
stay there inadvisable for her health. Had it not been for 
this, according to her usual custom, she would have re- 
mained at Ischl over the 18th, so as to be with the Em- 
peror on that day, which is his birthday. 

My poor mother had by this time so learned to read my 
face that she immediately noticed something unusual about 
me. In the very first minute of our meeting she fastened 
a long look upon me, a look which caused me to turn my 
eyes downwards in shame. 

I had arrived in the afternoon, so that mother had just 
time to slip into my apartments for a few minutes, to 
greet Frau von Friese and to hold me in her arms. She 
had no opportunity to talk much. It was therefore ar- 
ranged that I should come to her room at ten o'clock, so 
as to make sure that she should have retired and that no 
one would disturb us. 

Having travelled for nearly two whole days, of which 
the hours between Meran and Karrersee were spent in an 
old country carriage, which had shaken me considerably, I 
was very tired. I therefore lay down immediately after 
dinner, requesting Mina to wake me at half -past nine in 
case I should have fallen asleep. But, tired though I was, 
I could not sleep. I had noticed mother's searching 
glance, and knew that my confession could not be post- 
poned to another day — knew, indeed, that she would ask 
for it at the very first. So I lay on my bed, shiver- 
ing with cold one minute, and in a burning fever the 
next. What would she say? Would she be angry? 
Poor darling mother ! I knew she would not be that ; but 
she would be grieved, and that was worse. I looked at 
my little watch. Time was going so slowly. Or was it 
flying swiftly, oh, so swiftly? There was still half an hour 
more to be spent — an age before I could unburden my 
heart — a breath before I must! 

The door of my room opened slowly and cautiously. I 
struck a light, thinking it was Mina. I almost fell 
back upon the pillows. It was mother, her face deeply 

155 



serious — or, it would be more true to say, exceedingly 
mournful. 

I sprang from the bed and went toward her, taking hold 
of her hand and pressing it to my lips. She did not speak. 
She took my hand in hers and went slowly towards an arm- 
chair, where she sat down. I followed mechanically and 
seated myself at her feet. 

My heart was beating so loud that she must have heard 
it. So much did I tremble that she was obliged to put 
her arms around my shoulders to support me, and then, 
in her sweet angelic voice, she asked me what had hap- 
pened. 

I scarcely knew what I was saying. I tried to stammer 
out a few words, to the effect that I could not help it, but 
that I was very ashamed of myself; and then I hid my 
face in her lap. But she lifted my head firmly, and com- 
pelled me to look her in the eyes. Resistance was useless, 
I knew, and I made no struggle. She commanded me to 
speak freely, to keep no secret from her. In a softer tone 
again she told me not to suppose she was cross, but only 
to remember how in the past I had told her everything and 
trusted entirely in her. 

The confessional, however, was hard now as it had never 
been before. She had to put questions to me before I 
could proceed. Slowly and painfully she drew from me 
at length the whole story. When I had finished she looked 
at me in an agony of apprehension. Was I sure that I 
loved the man? she asked. " I suppose so," I brokenly 
replied ; whereat, for the first time, she could not repress a 
smile. Why did I only suppose? she asked. Because 
sometimes I wished I had never met him, I explained, and 
yet when I did meet him my heart seemed to stand 
still. . . . 

The sadness came back into her face when she reminded 
me that I had told her nothing at all about the matter when 
we were at Territet together. I was in torture when she 
said this, and tried desperately to prove to her that I did 
not then acknowledge the truth to myself, and so deceived 
not only her but myself also. I begged her to believe 

156 



that, now I saw all, I recognized the folly of my dreams, 
and knew that I had been thinking of impossibilities. I 
was much too young to choose for myself. It was for her 
to choose, not me. 

This was my last effort, and after it I lost all control 
over myself and burst into bitter sobs. I knew that it 
would have been a terrible blow to mother if I had told 
her that I still wished to marry this young man. Ferdi- 
nand Fellner was not for me. I had said good-bye to my 
first dream of love. How difficult it would really be to 
forget I did not then understand ; but it seemed bad enough 
even at the time. I realised that I had practically taken 
a vow to put him out of my heart — for her sake. 

Mother lavished affection and consolation upon me. 
She knew how hard the task was, she said, but I must be 
strong and trust her, as I had always done before. Then 
she got up from her chair, and, looking into my eyes, she 
continued gravely: 

" Once, when you were quite young, do you remember, 
dear, you asked me to lead you? The way is full of thorns 
and renunciations. But now you are on this path, and 
there is no turning back. You asked me, too, to give you 
the spurs if sometimes you refused to continue along the 
hard road." Suddenly her voice choked with emotion, and 
she breathed, rather than spoke, her last words: "And 
to-night I had to give them." 

I hid my face on her shoulder, and wept silently. 

" Go to bed now," she whispered. " Try to sleep and 
not to think, and only remember you are with mother." 

And with that she said good-night, and left me. 

CHAPTER XVIII 

A TYROLESE HOLIDAY 

In spite of my mother's command and my own good in- 
tentions, I remained awake many hours, sobbing as if my 
heart would break. Only when the morning twilight first 
began to steal through the windows did I find a troubled 

157 



sleep. But not in vain had I for years been disciplined in 
self-control. For her dear sake alone I did not wish to 
betray my grief, and so I soon managed to appear bright 
and cheerful. If mother suspected possibly that in the 
depth of my heart it was otherwise, she was too wise to 
open the old wounds by talking much about them. She 
hoped that my youth would soon enable me to banish even 
the memories of this experience. 

I remained at Karrersee with my mother nearly a month. 
As the place was so small, consisting in fact of little save 
the hotel, we were compelled to rise early to enjoy our 
daily morning walks without attracting attention. And 
this was necessary to avoid not merely the guests, but also 
the Countess Sztaray and General von Berceviczy, who 
accompanied her to Karrersee. They were very glad to 
be able to enjoy the comfort of their beds in the early 
morning hours. But the intimacy of the place made it less 
easy for us to be together than mother had expected. It 
is true that her suite knew of my presence indirectly. It 
was more of a farce than ever. If I met any of her peo- 
ple we each pretended not to know who the other was. 
They usually tried to hide from me — to my great amuse- 
ment. Etiquette being considerably relaxed, however, all 
the suite, and especially the Countess Sztaray, could prac- 
tically enter and leave mother's apartments unannounced. 
This unusual informality led to my being compelled to 
secrete myself behind mother's bed one rainy afternoon to 
avoid a chance encounter with the Countess, who entered 
unexpectedly with an important message, or at least one 
that she chose to consider important. It was, as a matter 
of fact, only a letter from the Countess Harrach, her newly 
appointed Mistress of the Household, who had written in 
the name of the Emperor to ask if Her Majesty had de- 
cided to be present on September 28th at the reception of 
the King and Queen of Roumania in Budapest. Of 
course, in Vienna it would have been imperative that this 
should be communicated at once to the Empress ; but here, 
at Karrersee, the case was quite different. 

I do not know which at that moment was the more to 

158 






be pitied — mother, who almost lost her presence of mind, 
and did lose her temper, or the Countess, who realised at 
once that she had made a mistake. Mother scarcely gave 
the Countess time to deliver her message before exclaim- 
ing: 

" No, certainly not ! Tell them not to annoy me with 
their tiresome festivities, and to leave me in peace during 
my holidays." With this she made an impatient little 
movement of her hand, as though to brush away a fly — 
and the Countess Sztaray was already outside the door. 

At this time mother was so anaemic that the doctors or- 
dered her to take raw meat, especially the juice. Now 
she loathed meat, and the sight of blood was abhorrent to 
her. The juice, therefore, she usually poured away into 
the flower-pots as she had no other means of disposing of 
it without those about her seeing what she was doing. She 
dared not absolutely refuse to take it, lest the doctors 
should force something worse upon her. As for the raw 
meat, she would keep it hidden in paper until she could 
carry it away and get rid of it. Sometimes, at my special 
request, she ate some of it — loving me too well to refuse 
me even this. She had little faith in physicians, and 
trusted to Nature rather for help. She adhered to her 
system of bodily training (prompted to a certain extent 
by personal vanity, as I have said before), and this must 
have increased her nervous malady and physical weakness. 

This summer, as already related, my mother broke 
through her regular custom of spending the Emperor's 
birthday, August 18th, with him at IschL The guests in 
the hotel at Karrersee, as everywhere else in Austria, cele- 
brated the day with a banquet, followed by a dance in the 
evening. Mother and I both absented ourselves from 
them and spent the greater part of the day together. On 
the previous day, in honour of the occasion, the English 
guests had presented an address to mother, through the 
Rev. Mr. Bennett, who was staying at Karrersee. 

As the summer of 1897 was rather rainy, our early 
morning walks often constituted the only time of the day 
spent out of doors. I had my own suite of rooms with 

159 



Frau von Friese and my maid. I took all my meals in my 
room, so saw very little of the other guests, and they saw 
equally little of me. After my barely averted encounter 
with Countess Sztaray, mother preferred to come to my 
rooms rather than that I should visit hers. Accordingly 
she spent hours with me there, often taking her meals with 
me. Everything was brought into the little ante-room, 
and from there set before us by Mina. I have often won- 
dered what the hotel servants thought of the life I led 
while I was there. As Frau von Friese had not yet fully 
recovered, and remained mostly on the balcony leading out 
of her room, perhaps they thought it was on her account 
that I lived such a secluded life. 

Mother was very kind to Frau von Friese now, as ever, 
and when we were together she was usually with us. In- 
deed, they were on such terms of intimacy that all formal- 
ity was entirely dispensed with. There was absolutely no 
constraint in their intercourse, and Frau von Friese always 
came or went as she felt disposed. 

I had my own table service, as mother never liked the 
ordinary hotel ware. She did not object to drinking from 
a poor peasant's cup at a little mountain farm, but she 
always said there was nothing more unappetising than 
hotel plates and dishes. And, in fact, in spite of all her 
travelling, she used them as little as possible. 

At table Mina's waiting was reduced to the minimum. 
She served us once each, then placed the dishes in the centre 
of the table and retired. After that we helped ourselves. 
This was very different from our custom in Vienna, where 
a certain state was kept up through the presence of Pirker 
and Leopold, who would have been horrified at any breach 
of etiquette. 

Mother thoroughly enjoyed these little meals of ours at 
Karrersee, and one day exclaimed: 

" Here at last I can enjoy a meal in comfort — nobody 
to watch me all the time, and eat as I like ! Really, Frau 
von Friese, we made a great mistake in not ordering the 
same arrangements for your home in Vienna. But I sup- 
pose Pirker never would have given his permission! " 

160 



At these words Frau von Friese and I burst into laugh- 
ter, for really poor Pirker was a terror to the entire house- 
hold without exception. Mother used to say such things 
in a very humorous way, quite unlike anyone else. And 
she always made her most amusing remarks with a per- 
fectly serious face. 

CHAPTER XIX 

A THUNDERBOLT 

About the beginning of October I returned to Vienna, 
after having spent over two weeks with the Kaisers at 
Reichenau. Now that I was again away from mother, 
life seemed wearier than ever. Moreover, my relations 
with Frau von Friese were, for a time at least, somewhat 
strained. I felt that she strongly disapproved of my love 
affair, and was offended that I had not confessed all to 
her before. She seemed disappointed in me, and made me 
feel it. Besides, she had not recovered her usual good 
health, and so had good reason for being low-spirited. 
She who had formerly been so cheerful and talkative was 
greatly changed. 

She now ruled me with an iron strictness, and was very 
stern with me at all times. She talked in a very abrupt 
manner; and as for me, I scarcely dared to speak a word 
to her unless asked to do so. My life became extremely 
mechanical, every day the same — lessons, walks, meals, 
and sleep. Not a moment's recreation was there; not a 
single opportunity to do as I wished. For years past the 
evening had been my time of recreation, when I read or 
played the piano or did needlework. During the last year 
I had been at least once a week to the opera, to a concert, 
to some other place of amusement, or to Elsa's home. 
This brought some slight variety into the monotony of my 
my life. But this autumn Frau von Friese gave me 
special lessons every evening from half -past seven to half- 
past ten ; three consecutive hours of work after the lessons 
of the day. " This will make us both tired and sleepy," 

161 



she said. ' We need it, so as not to lie awake in bed." 

I understood what she meant. But how harsh I found 
this measure of hers ! 

In the mornings I went to a class to learn dress-making, 
this time with Laura, while in the afternoons I took lessons 
in commercial subjects, such as book-keeping, shorthand, 
etc. My going again to the sewing-class was a species of 
penance decided upon by Frau von Friese after my return 
from Karrersee. Mother was asked to agree to this by 
letter. As she had always approved Frau von Friese's 
dispositions concerning me, she did not deem it wise to 
interfere now, so she wrote expressing her consent. Thus 
my time was fully occupied from morning to night. 

The sewing-school was a private one, belonging to a 
Fraulein Fritzi Weigh The pupils were of a better class 
than those of the previous year in the Frauenerwerbverein. 
Although a few expected to have to make their living by 
the knowledge acquired there, the great majority only 
came to learn dressmaking, so that they might save the 
expense of a dressmaker in after years. Nevertheless, 
there was not a single girl there of Laura's social standing, 
and once again I felt out of place. 

The month of October passed slowly and monotonously. 
On November 1st my mother returned from Godollo, as 
was her custom every year, for All Souls' Day, and my 
Saint's Day, the 4th of the month. Now at least I was 
happier again. 

About this time, also, we had a little change in our 
sewing-class, which made it pleasanter for Laura and for 
me. This was caused by the entrance into the class of 
three young girls who were more our equals, the Baroness 
Marianne Devez, Hanna Taschermann, and Bertha 
Habrda. Fraulein Weigl's pupils sat at tables with room 
for about six at each. 

Until this time Laura and I had sat alone, but now these 
three new girls were placed at our table. Neither of us 
was personally acquainted with them before this, though 
Laura knew them all by name and sight. The day after 
their arrival — it was, as a matter of fact, St. Charles's 

162 



Day — in great delight I told mother about our new 
school companions. No sooner had I pronounced the 
name of Bertha Habrda, however, than I was stunned by 
mother's outcry. " Habrda? " she all but shrieked. 

Then catching hold of my two arms and bending her 
terrified face towards mine, she cried again, in a voice ab- 
solutely hoarse with emotion: 

" Habrda? Did you say Habrda? Are you sure? " 

I was so frightened that I could not answer. My 
mother did not seem to expect it, for she continued: " Do 
you know what her father is? What is his position? " 

" I only know he is Hofrath [Privy Councillor] 
Habrda," I stammered. 

I had never seen mother so much excited in my life. She 
kept on clenching and unclenching her fists, in impotent 
anger, exclaiming again and again: " Oh! the scoundrels, 
the scoundrels! " 

I caressed and kissed her hands in an endeavour to soothe 
her. But it was of little avail, for she went on in the same 
harsh, strained tones: 

" Tell Frau von Friese to come at once to your room." 

I got up immediately and fetched my governess. When 
we came back mother had to some extent regained her 
usual composure. 

" Frau von Friese," she said, " I wish Lintchi to leave 
that sewing-school at once." 

" As it pleases your Majesty," Frau von Friese replied. 
" But may I ask why? " 

I was afraid mother would lose her temper again; but 
she only turned first very red, and then very pale as she 
said: 

" Do you know the name of Habrda, Frau von Friese? " 

" No, your Majesty, I never heard the name before 
Lily mentioned it," was the quiet answer. 

" Perhaps it will suffice if I tell you that the last police 
superintendent in charge of the personal safety of the 
Crown prince was Johann Habrda — and his daughter is 
at the same school as mine!" (Here Frau von Friese 
gave a little cry of astonishment.) " Now you know why 

163 



I do not wish my girl to remain any longer at this school." 

Frau von Friese stood in silent thought for a moment 
and then asked: " Does your Majesty really believe then 
that there is some hidden motive for placing these young 
girls near Lily? " 

" You are too optimistic, Frau von Friese. I am sure 
of it," answered my mother, with deep feeling. 

" I ask your Majesty's permission," calmly continued 
Frau von Friese, "to do a little reasoning. In the first 
place, is it probable that Hofrath Habrda would use his 
his own sixteen-year-old daughter as a spy? This is abso- 
lutely unlikely. That being so, what can he expect to get 
through her being there? " 

"He will use his daughter, without her knowing it, 
simply as a detective, so as by this to find out facts about 
my child." 

" No, your Majesty," was the reply. " Had he desired 
he would have found an easier way to discover what he 
wished." 

During this conversation I stood staring at them both, 
turned almost to stone with surprise and apprehension. 

" What is it, mother? " I asked at last, doing my best to 
master my excitement. " Who knows of our secret? 
Why should the police interfere ? It is none of their busi- 
ness, for we are not criminals." 

" My dear, dear Weiberl," said mother in a low voice, 
" you have no idea of the many things with which the police 
(meddle^" She continued in tdnes full of anguish: 
" Must I inch by inch destroy your youth entirely? Must 
I tell you of all the crimes which are committed every year ? 
Do you know how many people have disappeared in this 
city, and are still disappearing every day, without anybody 
knowing what becomes of them? " 

" Oh, mamma, then do you believe that something might 
happen to me? " I exclaimed. The idea seemed to me 
rather interesting than terrifying now. In my heart of 
hearts, I thought it more the product of mother's nervous- 
ness than anything else. I imagine that Frau von Friese 
was of much the same opinion, for she said : 

164 



" I must ask your Majesty's pardon for what I venture 
to say, but I really think she is carrying her anxiety a lit- 
tle too far. Her Majesty is very imprudent about her 
safety, and now she sees things far blacker than they really 

55 

are. 

" So then, to speak plainly, my dear Friese, you do not 
agree with me? You think it simply a coincidence? " 

' Yes, your Majesty, and I do not believe that there is 
the slighest danger for Lily in remaining at the school. 
And let us even suppose that there are grounds for sus- 
picion. What a good training this will be for her to meet 
the world!" 

At these words poor mother hid her face in her hands 
to conceal her despair, for she knew that she would again 
be obliged to submit to my implacable governess. 

Frau von Friese continued in the same calm, even voice, 
ignoring my mother's emotion: " I have to be hard, your 
Majesty. I am the one who has taken in hand the task 
of preparing this child for life. I must not bind myself. 
What can she learn if she is always to be sheltered ? How 
can she learn to protect herself? No, as I said, here is a 
splendid opportunity for her. If this is really some trick, 
is it not by our good fortune that they were so simple as to 
make their action easily discoverable? Unfortunately, 
your Majesty, I imagine them to be more skilful. We 
have to beware of the traps we are unable to see, not those 
like this." 

And so I continued to go to the school. Mother, how- 
ever, thought it time now to enlighten me about the trag- 
edy of my brother's death, of which hitherto she had al- 
ways refused to speak. What she told me I will in my 
turn relate. 

CHAPTER XX 

MAYERLING 

" Rudy never committed suicide ! Rudy was mur- 
dered!" 

These were my mother's words. What indescribable 

165 



despair did they convey — the despair that dries up the 
source of tears and turns sleep into an evil dream! The 
state of her soul since the death of the Crown Prince was 
not one of ordinary sorrow over a bereavement, but some- 
thing far worse. Blended with the terrible anguish caused 
to her by the loss of her only boy was a feeling of intense, 
concentrated hatred for those who had been the authors of 
his death. Her heart cried out for vengeance; and this 
mother's wrath was all the more desperate because her own 
exalted position prevented her from tracking down the 
guilty ones, who were themselves of high standing, or 
sheltered behind higher personages still to save themselves 
from attack. 

Yes, Rudolf was murdered. This is the true solution 
of the riddle of Mayerling, and I am grateful to Fate that 
for me has been reserved the duty of revealing the true 
story to the world. 

In order to make things clear to me my mother gave me 
a detailed description of the manners and customs of the 
Court of Vienna. I have already, earlier in this book, 
said something upon this subject, but even at the risk of 
wearying the reader with repetition it is necessary to re- 
turn to it again here. At the Viennese Court far more 
than at any other Court in the world, not only the mem- 
bers of the Imperial Family, but all, be they men or 
women, who are admitted within the sacred precincts, lead 
a life very remote from that of the outside world. Here a 
long roll of ancestors is still the only passport, and whoso- 
ever cannot produce one, if indeed he can gain admission 
at all, is eyed with severe disapproval. The inhabitants of 
this select place think themselves much too good for the 
rest of mankind, who are mere canaille in comparison, and 
they actually believe that it is by the grace of God that 
they have a right to the privileges and comforts of life. 
They dwell in splendid luxury, while others who are not 
" high-born " spend their last penny and work their fin- 
gers to the bone in their service. These aristocrats play 
indeed at charity because it is good form, comme il faut, 
and also because it is a very pleasant stimulant to look 

166 ' 



upon the misery of others from the midst of one's own hap- 
piness. 

The Spanish etiquette still reigns at the Court of Vi- 
enna, which was there in the reign of the Emperor Charles 
V. Whatever the occasion may be, a birth, a wedding, a 
funeral, a glad or a mournful ceremony, the feeling of an 
outside spectator must be the same ; he is carried back three 
hundred years into the past. The same state of affairs 
prevails with regard to the government of the Imperial 
Family, over which the power of the Emperor is absolute. 
The same again is true of the household, everything must 
be in the same rank, in the same order, down to the small- 
est detail of State livery. All is Spanish, all is narrow 
and arrogant. And, of course, all who claim to belong 
to the Court fashion their lives on the same model. 

In contrast to this pomp and almost Oriental luxury, in 
contrast to this conceit of exalted birth, stand the self-de- 
nial and renunciation, the gentleness and tolerance incul- 
cated by the Church, the all-powerful Roman Catholic 
Church. The inevitable results of these contradictory in- 
fluences are deceit, immorality, and intrigue. Hypo- 
crites, slanderers, and treacherous dealers abound. 
Everyone has his own father-confessor, from whom he re- 
ceives absolution; for the Church has no wish to lose the 
favour of these great folk, and is content if appearances 
are maintained. So clergy and Court are the best of 
friends, and appearances are maintained excellently. 

It is necessary to have lived among these people in order 
to understand the various causes which drive them to be- 
come bad; how in one case it is fear, in another ambition, 
in another weakness of character, in another inborn vice. 
Anyone amongst them whose mind is of a different cast 
and who expresses different views is looked upon as an 
apostate, and his life is that of a prisoner, wearily drag- 
ging around with him the chains of his captivity. 

What wonder is it, then, that a deep and liberal thinker 
like the Crown Prince Rudolf should try to set himself 
free from such surroundings? 

Rudolf in his childhood had been brought u£ in the nar- 

167 



rowest of ways, as might be imagined when it is said that 
the sole control of his early education was in the hands of 
the Archduchess Sophia, his grandmother. As a matter 
of course, he was taught to believe implicitly in the " di- 
vine right of kings "; and, until the time came when he be- 
gan to observe and think for himself, he was contemptuous 
of others' feelings and arrogant in his behaviour. His na- 
ture was close, defiant, wilful and passionate, and he pre- 
ferred his own company. When a little boy he liked to 
play alone, and got angry if anyone else touched his toys. 
As he got older he showed a taste for reading, and took 
much interest in everything connected with animals and 
plants, about which he never seemed able to learn enough. 
Had he not been born a Crown Prince he would probably 
have become a naturalist, for he possessed the requisite 
ability and strength of will, loved the active open-air life, 
and was gifted with more than average intelligence. 
When he grew up, he became less reserved — under the in- 
fluence of her who was his mother and mine — especially in 
the society of the people whom he felt to be sympathetic, 
and he lost the haughtiness which had been implanted in 
him. 

It has been brought as a charge against Rudolf that he 
was exceedingly frivolous and frittered away his time in 
the company of frivolous women. This is mere invention. 
By temperament he was very serious, and the consequence 
was that cheerfulness with him often showed itself in noisy 
gaiety ; for it is hard for natures like his to preserve their 
balance in such circumstances. But his amusements were 
not dissolute ones. An Imperial prince, however, readily 
incurs suspicions of this kind. Rudolf's chief amusement 
was to drive out with his favourite coachman, Bratfisch, to 
the suburbs, and there to pay a visit to some small inn. 
Here he would stay till late at night over his Heurigen — 
that is to say, wine of the current year — listening to the 
singing of popular songs or talking with the ordinary peo- 
ple sitting about him. These night excursions of his were 
not merely an idle device for killing time. They were 
prompted by the instinct of the inquirer, the spirit of Har- 

168 



oun-el-Raschid — a spirit, by the way, which also showed 
itself in Ludwig I. of Bavaria. How much more practical 
was this method of investigating the ways and thoughts 
of the people, than the usual systematic plan which crams 
the minds of princes with useless rubbish. Rudolf by his 
conduct soon gained the hearts of all his people and made 
himself more popular than any other member of the Im- 
perial family. " Our Rudy " was his name everywhere, 
and it was with feelings of confidence that men looked for- 
ward to the days when he should reign over them. 

Through the whole course of his childhood he had been 
treated with such an exaggeration of strictness where re- 
ligious matters were concerned that, when he had grown to 
be a thinking human being, he felt an utter repulsion for 
the Church and he never attended its services unless actu- 
ally compelled to do so; and he habitually ridiculed the 
hypocrisy of the clergy. But in time, as he discovered the 
extent of their trickery, and particularly that of the Jes- 
uits, and realised what a harmful power they wielded in 
Austria, he ceased to laugh at them and began to meditate 
how he might one day cut himself free from them. He 
sought his friends among the men of science, the writers 
and artists — and became a freemason. Now masonry in 
Austria is quite a different thing from what it is in any 
other country in the world. It is forbidden. The Church 
in Austria has such strength that it has succeeded in hav- 
ing masonry declared illegal. To be a freemason, there- 
fore, is to break the law. The meetings of this necessarily 
secret society, when discovered, are broken up and the 
members are prosecuted in the courts. And the Crown 
Prince of Austria was a freemason ! 

Of a certainty Rudolf was neither the frivolous creature 
nor the libertine which his enemies endeavoured to repre- 
sent him as being. But their point of view — or, rather, 
their plan of campaign — is intelligible enough. They 
had to be prepared for troublous times when he should 
mount the throne. The Prince took as his ideal and model 
the Emperor Joseph II. This monarch, who reigned 
from 1780 to 1790 and was the brother of the unhappy 

169 



Marie-Antoinette, made matters very uncomfortable for 
the clergy and the nobility of his empire. He specially de- 
creed that all religious orders whose members would not 
" keep school, or preach, or help the sick and dying, or dis- 
tinguish themselves by study," should have their property 
confiscated. With the money thus acquired he founded 
schools, hospitals, lunatic asylums, orphanages, and other 
charitable institutions. He soon went on to interfere with 
the internal affairs of the Church in his dominions and to 
regulate the order of the services and the details connected 
with processions, pilgrimages, indulgences, etc.; in fact, 
to subject the Church entirely to the authority of the State. 

In order to put a stop to these measures, the Pope of 
the day, Pius VI., condescended even to go to Vienna and 
beg the Emperor not to proceed with his reforms. But 
he strove in vain. The reformation went on. The Jes- 
uits were banished from the Empire. The Protestants, 
on the other hand, who had suffered terribly in Austria 
for the past hundred and fifty years, obtained all manner 
of alleviations. The Jews were granted freedom of move- 
ment. Hitherto they had been forced to live in their 
ghettos and to wear the yellow patch on their clothes as a 
distinguishing mark. 

The nobles did not come off much better than the 
Church. Innumerable privileges which previously had 
been theirs were done away with. What affected them 
most painfully was the abolition of serfdom, by which a 
great portion of their possessions was taken from them 
and made over to the freed peasantry. 

The last-named measures were allowed to continue in 
force after the death of the Emperor Joseph. But under 
his successors the Church of Rome secured a complete 
restitution of her lost rights. In particular the religious 
orders and the monasteries were restored. And the Jes- 
uits, above all, regained their position, their power now 
spreading farther than ever. 

Rudolf never concealed his aversion to the Church, and 
to the Jesuits in chief; and, as I have already said, they 
could anticipate no good for themselves from his accession 

170 



to the throne. It did not take long, therefore, for a party- 
hostile to him to form at the Court. It would be difficult 
to name all the members of importance in this party. But 
it can be stated definitely that at its head stood the Arch- 
duke Karl-Ludwig (Charles-Louis), brother of the Em- 
peror and father of the then heir-presumptive, the Arch- 
duke Franz-Ferdinand. Karl-Ludwig had never for- 
given his elder brother for being born before him and thus 
obtaining the Imperial crown. Yet he had a great influ- 
ence over Francis-Joseph, and probably it was for this 
reason that he was chosen to head the party against the 
Crown Prince. He was well fitted for the post, since no 
one could match him in creeping hypocrisy. 

My mother heard nothing about the vile intrigue until 
after the death of Rudolf. The latter was unequal to 
coping with the machinations of his enemies. His very 
uprightness was in itself an obstacle to him. It prevented 
him from being able to judge clearly the baseness of other 
people. Besides, the effect of his early education had been 
to foster in him a goodly portion of self-conceit, which 
never left him. He could not imagine that anyone could 
set himself up as a rival to him. 

Perhaps Rudolf's greatest misfortune, however, was his 
indifference toward the military profession. Not that he 
felt any personal dislike against soldiers; but he did not 
take the slightest interest in them and their pursuits. 
Consequently this party, which is so powerful in Austria 
and is the only one that has any influence besides the 
Church and the nobility, was estranged from him. The 
Emperor, on the other hand, was a thorough soldier and 
could not forgive his son for his indifference to military 
matters. Their relations with one another constantly grew 
more and more strained; which, of course, was grist to the 
mill of Rudolf's enemies. 

As soon as the Crown Prince was allotted his own 
Court, which took place on his sixteenth birthday, when he 
legally came of age, he began to surround himself with 
people who did not belong to the Imperial Court circle — 
for the most part scholars and literary men. At the age 

171 



of twenty he had established a small society about himself, 
which was very select but was certainly not fashionable. 
Among them, to the horror of the Court, there were even 
journalists; and, worse still, they were mostly of the Jew- 
ish persuasion ! This was intolerable, and must be put an 
end to. 

Attempts were made to entice Rudolf into feminine so- 
ciety. But, if one may say so, he was somewhat undevel- 
oped on the sensual side and took no particular pleasure in 
it. Occasionally he noticed himself his lack of enjoyment 
in the alluring things of this life, and then, as if he were 
ashamed of his deficiency, he would plunge into some wild 
dissipation, toward which he felt all the greater repug- 
nance when he had come to his senses again. The insti- 
gator of these orgies was Count Charles Bombelles. This 
man, a son of the Emperor Francis-Joseph's tutor in boy- 
hood, was first tutor and then controller of the household 
to the Crown Prince Rudolf. 1 Bombelles might have suc- 
ceeded in drawing the Prince into this life of vice had not 
the Empress interfered in time and exhorted the Emperor 
incessantly to prevent the ruin of their son. 

To Francis-Joseph, looking on Rudolf in more ways 
than one as an unnatural son, there only appeared one 
remedy — marriage.. If my mother's advice had been 
taken and Rudolf had been sent away on a voyage round 
the world, his own wish would have been fulfilled and 
everything would have turned out differently. But the 
Emperor's advisers, his chief ministers, and his confessor, 
Father Laurenz Mayer, whose influence far exceeded the 
Empress's, were against the plan. Was not the Crown 
Prince already democratic enough? they asked. Were 
not his ideas already sufficiently perverse that he should be 
sent to bring home still madder ones ? 

And so, instead of taking a voyage round the world, he 
went to look for a wife. 

Here again came an opportunity for fresh intrigues. 
Among the few eligible princesses of the day the two best- 

i It was his uncle Charles Rene, Grand Master of the Coui-t to Ferdinand 
I., who was the third husband of the Archduchess Marie-Louise. 

172 



looking and most attractive, the Infanta Maria- Anna of 
Braganza, later Grand-Duchess of Luxemburg, and her 
sister Marie-Antonia, later Duchess of Parma, were not 
considered. 2 If only those in authority had consented to 
wait a few years — and Rudolf was barely twenty — he 
would have had a wider and better field for choice, and he 
himself would have been maturer and more capable of ap- 
preciating the gravity of the step which he was taking. 
As it was, he allowed himself to be misled by frivolous ad- 
vice, especially from Count Bombelles. His advisers said 
to him that it would be useless to wait for some princess 
from fairyland. The heir to a throne must have sober, 
common-sense ideas concerning marriage. As he would 
probably never fall in love with the woman he would be 
permitted to marry, it was a matter of indifference upon 
whom his choice fell. So the poor, inexperienced Crown 
Prince, still himself at an awkward age and not yet very 
attractive in looks, an idealist at heart but profoundly un- 
conscious of his own idealism, submitted and married 
Stephanie, daughter of Leopold, King of the Belgians. 

The selection of Princess Stephanie was not fortunate, 
as she shared none of Rudolf's interests. She cared for 
nothing but dress and entertainments, and in her manner 
was tactless and impatient. 

Following mother's advice, Rudolf at first took pains 
and did his best to bring into harmony his wife's interests 
and his own. The effort was not a success. The youth- 
fulness of both parties was the chief obstacle to their hap- 
piness, mother said. She herself, who from the beginning 
had strongly opposed the match, tried to the utmost of her 
power to bring the two together. But Rudolf was far 
from being easy to guide, and in the first year of the mar- 
riage things went very wrong indeed. 

It was hoped that affairs would improve upon the birth 
of an heir. Unfortunately, this proved a delusion, not 

2 They were daughters of Miguel I., King of Portugal. Their brother, 
Miguel II, the Legitimist claimant to the former kingdom of Portugal, mar- 
ried the Princess Elizabeth of Thurn and Taxis (since dead), daughter of 
my aunt Helene. Marie-Antonia is the mother of the Archduchess Zita, the 
new heir-presumptive's wife. 

173 



merely because it was a little girl that was born, but also 
because the doctors now announced that the Crown Prin- 
cess would never be able to bear another child. This was 
not merely a disappointment ; it was the total ruin of the 
hopes of Rudolf and of the whole Court alike. 

There was now complete coldness between the two 
young people. They might simply have gone their own 
way — Rudolf not being a jealous husband — had not his 
enemies thought the time opportune for them to intervene. 
The Crown Prince being perfectly indifferent, they must 
try to arouse Stephanie's jealousy. She would never have 
become jealous of her own accord. But they gradually in- 
stilled into her mind that her husband was occupied with 
the scheme of having his marriage annulled, in order to be 
able to marry someone with whom he was in love, the 
Princess Aglae Auersperg. There would be nothing to 
prevent this marriage, were Rudolf free, for the Princess 
belonged to one of the mediatised princely families, and 
therefore, according to the Austrian idea, was eligible to 
marry even a Crown Prince. The whole story was an in- 
vention, but Stephanie was thrown into a perfect panic, 
and became an easy tool in the hands of the enemy. 
Agents of the secret police were placed at her disposal, 
who made up and brought to her the most harrowing 
stories of her husband's manner of life. The unhappy 
woman, instead of enduring in silence or with quiet dignity 
asking him to explain himself, overwhelmed Rudolf at 
once with reproaches and insults, refusing absolutely to 
believe his categoric denials. 

Terrible scenes now took place, which would have been 
unworthy of a washerwoman and a stableman. The 
scandal reached the ears of the public. The Crown 
Princess herself helped not a little to spread it about by 
speaking of her wretchedness to everyone who had the pa- 
tience to listen to her. 

In reality Rudolf, not having a very strong constitution, 
was obliged to avoid a life of dissipation and to dwell in 
comparative retirement. Political matters occupied his 
attention more and more, especially those concerning the 

174 



spread of liberal ideas. Many a night which Stephanie 
was induced to believe spent in wild orgies, was spent in 
secret meetings with men of like views to his own. It is 
probable that had he found peace and quiet in his married 
life, he would not have been so ready to pass his time thus. 
As it was, he used politics not only to gratify his personal 
leanings, but also to escape from his home and the trouble- 
some thoughts aroused there. 

In order to be able to lead a life free from disturbance, 
he resolved to buy an estate in the neighbourhood of Vi- 
enna. Up to now he had resided, when not at the Hof- 
burg itself, at the castle of Laxenburg, which was not far 
away. It was necessary that his new place also should be 
near the capital, and he decided on the huntino--box of 
Mayerling. So cunningly had his enemies woven their in- 
trigues that he remained totally unsuspicious that his 
choice had been influenced by them. Mayerling was all 
but next door to the Cistercian monastery of the Holy 
Cross (Heiligenkreuz) . The estate being really too small 
for purposes of hunting, the amiable monks offered a lease 
of their grounds in case his Imperial Highness should 
make up his mind to purchase Mayerling. As this had 
been the only objection to the estate, that it was not ex- 
tensive enough, the unsuspecting Prince accepted their of- 
fer and bought Mayerling. The result was that he, who 
thought himself at length alone and undisturbed, was un- 
der closer observation than before. 

The man who acted as intermediary between the Crown 
Prince and the monks was the police commissioner, Jo- 
hann Habrda, the guardian of the personal safety of the 
former. Habrda owed what advancement had been his so 
far, to the abbot of the monastery Father Griinbeck, to 
whom he naturally felt under an obligation. 

Rudolf's political activities were of too mild a nature to 
furnish his enemies with material for a scandal ; and, more- 
over, as his sj^mpathies were all in favour of liberty, an at- 
tack on him for this would only have increased his popu- 
larity. On the other hand, they had so far completely 
failed to demonstrate to the public satisfaction that he was 

175 



a dissipated character. And, to make matters worse, there 
were serious scandals connected with the sons of the Arch- 
duke Karl-Ludwig, Franz-Ferdinand and still more Otto. 
The misdeeds of the latter have so often been enumerated 
in the Press and in books that I am glad to say I can ab- 
stain from mentioning any of them here. They are so re- 
pulsive that those who have never heard of them may con- 
gratulate themselves. I have only alluded to them in this 
vague way to point out that if people in Court circles be- 
have scandalously there is no necessity for a campaign to 
spread the unsavoury stories. They make their way 
abroad, and do not remain, as in my brother Rudolf's case, 
mere idle gossip of the Court. Of the things done by the 
Archduke Karl-Ludwig's sons there were many eye-wit- 
nesses among the people, both middle and lower classes. 
Can anyone say the same about Rudolf? 

The efforts to compromise the Crown Prince over his 
disagreements with his wife failed entirely, and the blame 
seemed always to fall upon the unhappy Stephanie. 
Years passed, and no opportunity offered itself to damage 
him. 

But Rudolf had never yet loved passionately, and it was 
the awakening of passion which put his ruin within his 
enemies' hands. He fell in love at last — and fell very 
deeply. 

The utter baseness and unscrupulousness of the plotters, 
my mother said, was in no way more revealed than that 
they employed the innocence of a young girl, who knew 
nothing of the scheme, to bring about their ends. It was 
enough for them that they found a convenient, unsuspect- 
ing tool. What mattered it if she too were ruined? 

The Baroness Marie Vetsera's unusual beauty is a mat- 
ter of common knowledge. Her mother was by birth a 
Baltazzi, daughter of a wealthy financier from the Near 
East. She had married an Austrian baron, by whom she 
was left a widow with four children. Her reputation in 
Vienna was certainly not very good, but in consequence of 
the great state which she kept she was at least tolerated in 
Court society. Her frivolous character was a very useful 

176 



circumstance to the conspirators, for in consequence of it 
she lent herself willingly to suggestions of a noble love af- 
fair for her daughter. 

I never heard from my mother how the Crown Prince 
became acquainted with Marie Vetsera, and doubtless she 
did not herself know. Recently, however, the missing link 
in the chain seems to have been supplied. The Countess 
Larisch, 3 in her book published in London last year, fur- 
nishes an explanation. It is true that she says that Marie 
Vetsera first wrote to my brother, and that he consented to 
her offer of friendship. Now it is impossible that a letter 
addressed by her directly to him could have reached his 
hands unseen. And what intermediary could she have em- 
ployed between herself and the Crown Prince — except 
one? Either as a practical joke or as a piece of good-na- 
ture, the undertaking of such a commission will probably 
seem to most people as going a little too far. And with 
regard to good-nature, the Countess makes little attempt 
in her book to conceal that she hated both my mother (who 
had made a great favourite of her in childhood) and the 
Crown Princess Stephanie. Good-nature, therefore, 
seems an inadequate theory to explain the assistance which 
she gave, on her own showing, to bring about numerous 
interviews between Rudolf and Marie Vetsera. More 
than this I need not perhaps say. After all, the ques- 
tion is not one of great importance. Fate surely decides 
such matters, whatever the nature of the instruments it 
uses. 

Rudolf was a lonely, unloved man, who in the course of 
time felt the necessity of finding some object of his affec- 
tions. The strange thing was that what happened came 
about so much later than had been expected. 

His enemies lay carefully in wait. Not until the passion 
had broken into a blaze did they begin to fan the flames. 
His jealousy must now be stirred. The Archduke Otto 
and the Duke of Braganza vied with one another in pay- 
ing attentions to Marie Vetsera, who was regularly be- 

3 Daughter by a morganatic marriage of Ludwig, eldest son of Maximilian, 
Duke in Bavaria. (See p. 29, footnote.) 

177 



sieged by admirers. Rudolf, as a matter of course, did 
not wish to be the last. 

Every detail was faithfully reported to the Crown 
Princess Stephanie by those who were so glad to have 
found at last some material for their purposes. Stephanie 
on her part was not content with reproaching and abus- 
ing her husband, but in his presence expressed herself in 
an abominably provocative fashion regarding the woman 
he loved, designating her in terms which would never, even, 
have been expected in the mouths of women much lower in 
th social scale than herself. Nor did she attempt to con- 
trol herself in the least when others were present. 

The indifference which Rudolf had felt for his wife up 
to now turned to hate and loathing. His situation was all 
the more intolerable because for the first time he felt really 
to blame and did not quite know how to defend himself. 

The result would have been the same in any case. A 
complete breach was now made. Rudolf refused to live 
any longer with Stephanie, and forbade her to set foot in 
Mayerling. His meetings with Marie Vetsera were all 
the more frequent. 

My mother only heard little by little what was going 
on. She was really powerless. On the one hand, she 
could not possibly approve of her son's behaviour; on the 
other, she felt the deepest sympathy with him. She would 
have dearly loved him to give her his full confidence, but 
this, of course, was impossible — it was against the ideas 
of the day, and she was an Empress, and above all the 
Empress of Austria. The curse of the Spanish etiquette 
again came into play. Down to his twelfth year Rudolf 
had been brought up away from her. Till then she was a 
stranger to him. Not until after the death of his grand- 
mother, the Archduchess Sophia, did she exert any influ- 
ence over his character. And even then the strict rules 
of etiquette made a dividing gulf between mother and son 
which could never be bridged. 

Furthermore, mother had suffered too much at the hands 
of her own mother-in-law to be quite devoid of sympathy 
with Stephanie. Her own docility and her tactful be- 

178 



haviour toward the Emperor, which was in such striking 
contrast to Stephanie's conduct toward the Crown Prince, 
had availed her nothing ; but her failure had made her un- 
derstand onty too well the difficulties of the position. Her 
powerlessness, in spite of her comprehension, made her all 
the more unhappy. 

In the meanwhile the relations between the Emperor 
and his son had not improved. The former had received 
hints about the political activities of the latter, and, an- 
gered at the new proofs of his son's apostasy, he forbade 
him to associate with a number of learned men whom he 
had made his friends. Among them was the famous and 
universally esteejmed naturalist, Brejhm. As might be 
imagined, such a step did not tend to calm Rudolf's excited 
nerves. He withdrew more and more from the life of the 
Court. And now Marie Vetsera found that she was about 
to become a mother. 

Poor Rudolf! He was very fond of children, and 
deeply attached to his little Ersie. According to my 
mother, Ersie was a good little girl, though neither very 
talented nor even intelligent. As she grew older she was 
terribly spoilt. Rudolf always lavished affection upon 
her. Many of the pranks which he played with her 
reached the ears of the public. It was always he who, to 
the last year of his life, disguised himself each December 
6th as St. Nicholas to amuse her. It was only when the 
saint reproved her for having lately acquired the habit of 
throwing her hat and gloves out of the carriage-window, 
for fun, that she recognised him. He was very unhappy 
at the idea that he would never have another child. And 
now he was suddenly convinced, for some reason, that 
Marie was going to bear him a son. At the idea he was 
transported with joy, and totally new thoughts entered 
his head. 

Hungary was under the Salic law, which allows divorce 
to the sovereign and entitles the children of any wife le- 
gally married to him to ascend the throne. The Crown 
Prince was, if possible, even more popular in Hungary 
than in Austria. He could attain what he wished there; 

179 



Marie could become his wife and could wear the Imperial 
crown. 

But this was only to be his last resource. Before he took 
so extreme a step he intended, for his father's sake, to try 
to have his marriage annulled by the Church. Being, as I 
have said, on the worst possible footing with the priesthood, 
he required some friend who would act as mediator. 

And now he committed an error which was destined to 
complete his ruin. He confided entirely in his brother-in- 
law, Duke Philip of Coburg — " that idiot," as my mother 
scornfully called him. Philip of Coburg was married to 
Stephanie's sister, the much discussed and slandered 
Princess Louise of Belgium, and was no happier in his 
marriage than Rudolph. It must have been this circum- 
stance which drew the two luckless husbands together, 
for otherwise they had no interest in common. Philip was 
depraved and brutal, and really was singularly lacking in 
mind. Fully convinced that he was doing Rudolf a fa- 
vour, the I}uke communicated all that he told him to the 
Archduke Franz-Ferdinand, with whom he was on very 
friendly terms, and whom he knew to be an ally of the 
Church. 

Now at last the moment had arrived so long wished for 
by the Crown Prince's enemies. Franz-Ferdinand ad- 
vised recourse to a priest named Gottfried Marschall, for- 
merly his own tutor. Marschall was complaisant and in- 
sinuating in his manners, and was able, by an appearance 
of bonhomie, to gain Rudolf's confidence. He seemed to 
enter entirely into the latter's plans, and even advised him 
that, to avoid the possibility of interference, he had better 
send a letter direct to the Pope himself instead of employ- 
ing an agent. In this letter he was to ask His Holiness to 
aid him to the extent of annulling his marriage. 

Rudolf must assuredly have been blinded by his passion, 
for how else could he have believed so readily in the broad- 
mindedness of the priest? 

" Those abominable traitors! " cried my mother, when 
she had reached this point in the story, " they had calcu- 
lated everything. He must die, because his life was a 

180 



source of constant danger to them." 

Her mingled agony and righteous wrath made it hard 
for to continue, but at last she proceeded. 

Pope Leo XIII. did not condescend to answer the let- 
ter. There is no need to point out what an insult lay in 
this alone ; but that was not all. He sent the letter to the 
Emperor through the Nuncio then accredited to the Court 
of Vienna, Monsignor Galimberti. 

On January 28th, 1889, about three o'clock in the after- 
noon, the Emperor sent a message to my mother request- 
ing her to come to his apartments. They were residing, 
as usual in the winter, at the Hofburg. To her astonish- 
ment, on entering the Emperor's study she found the 
Nuncio in his company — a very unusual occurrence. In 
a few words everything was explained to her. She pro- 
tested indignantly, it is true, that even if her son had done 
wrong, he was being treated in an unheard-of fashion. 
But the Emperor stopped her with a gesture, and said that 
this was for him alone to judge. She had been asked to 
come merely that she might be present at an interview with 
the Crown Prince, who had been, summoned and was ex- 
pected every minute. 

It was about half-past four when Rudolf was an- 
nounced. Poor mother! She had not even a chance of 
giving him the slightest warning. As she told this, in sen- 
tences cut short by dry, suffocating sobs, the scene seemed 
to rise vividly up before my eyes. 

" And to think that it was thus I was to see him for the 
last time! " she cried. Words of comfort would have been 
a profanation to such grief, so I waited for her to go on. 

To judge by his troubled expression as he entered the 
room, Rudolf must have known already that something 
was wrong. The Emperor, however, left him little time 
to think about it. Without any introductory words he al- 
most threw in his face the letter to the Pope, and de- 
manded from him, in ill-controlled anger, whether he had 
taken leave of his senses to expose himself so and bring 
shame upon his whole family. 

For an instant the Crown Prince stood speechless. 

181 



Then suddenly, looking the Nuncio contemptuously from 
head to foot, he said with the utmost bitterness: "I 
ought to have known what kind of help was to be expected 
from you! Baseness and meanness can always be looked 
for there! " 

Turning to his father, he reproached him for placing 
him in so ridiculous a position, for treating him like a mere 
schoolboy. But as he had been challenged, he added, he 
would state unreservedly what he would otherwise have 
tried to explain with more circumspection. 

Truly he did not mince matters. It was the fault of his 
father and his father's advisers^that he had been made un- 
happy. They had all desired his ruin, or else they would 
not have given him such a wife as her to whom he was now 
to be chained all his life. 

Fearing that his excitement would carry him too far, 
mother went up to him and gently caught hold of his 
hands. But Rudolf only became the more passionate, 
and, after pressing his burning lips to her hands, he 
begged her not to take the side of the others, when she 
did not at all think wjth them. 

The Emperor grew anxious at the effect of this upon 
her, and impatiently broke in. " Do not speak like that," 
he commanded, " nor try to make us believe you want your 
marriage annulled merely because you are unhappy with 
your wife. It is a disgrace for,, a young man like you not 
to maintain appearances better." 

Rudolf must certainly have lost his head altogether to 
dare to answer as he did his father and his Emperor. He 
told him that he had no right to speak to him in that fash- 
ion. Stephanie was both stupid and ugly, and he had 
been forced to take her, while his father had married, of 
his own free choice, an intelligent and beautiful woman, 
with the result — but I need not here repeat what Rudolf 
in his fury said. 

Things were not taking the course desired by the Nun- 
cio. It might be expected that the next minute the Crown 
Prince would be ordered out of the room, before he him- 
self had had the chance of saying a word. He therefore 

182 



had recourse to his dignity as a prince of the Church to 
come forward as a peacemaker, and to take the liberty of 
speaking uninvited. Suavely he called the Crown 
Prince's attention to the fact that it was not worth while 
to quarrel with his family for the sake of some woman. 

At these coolly uttered words Rudolf turned deadly 
pale. With an unnatural calmness he strode up to the 
priest, halted in front of him so close that their faces al- 
most touched, and, emphasising each separate word, he 
gasped out : " Whom — do — you — mean? " 

" Your Imperial Highness knows very well of whom we 
are speaking." 

" Then," shouted Rudolf, " will you dare repeat that 
again? " 

" Why not? I repeat only what the birds on the house- 
tops are already chirping to one another, that the Crown 
Prince, for the sake of some worthless person " 

The Nuncio got no further, for two resounding boxes on 
the ear from the Crown Prince put an end to his speech, 
accompanied by the^words, " Wait, you — priest! Once 
for all, I'll make you pay for this! " 

The Emperor up to now had kept calm only by the ex- 
ertion of all his will. He now saw that there was nothing 
to be done for the moment, and ordered Rudolf to retire, 
asking him to give his word that he would not see Marie 
Vetsera again before he had had a quiet discussion with 
him. 

My mother would have detained him, so that father and 
son might not part in such anger. But the Emperor si- 
lenced her, and Rudolf left the room unreconciled. He 
went off at once to Mayerling, where he shut himself up in 
his private apartments, although Duke Philip of Coburg 
and the Duke of Braganza were on a visit there. Losch- 
egg, his valet, heard him walking up and down restlessly 
nearly all the night, as he, Loschegg, afterwards told my 
mother. 

It was from Loschegg and from Bratfisch the coachman 
that mother heard, after the catastrophe, most of the de- 
tails of what had taken place. Loschegg was a friend of 

183 



Bratfisch, and therefore confided to him early next morn- 
ing that their master must have met with some serious 
trouble, since lie had apparently not closed his eyes all 
night. Now Bratfisch filled a very exceptional position in 
the Crown Prince's service, somewhat like that of a court 
jester in times of old. Rudolf talked over everything with 
him, and put great trust in him. When, therefore, the 
coachman asked to be admitted he was at once brought 
into his presence. 

Rudolf told Bratfisch about the events of the previous 
day and then gave him a letter, which he was to deliver 
personally to the Baroness Marie Vetsera in Vienna. In 
this letter he begged her not to be anxious if she did not 
see him for a few days, and promised he would keep her 
informed by letter. 

When Bratfisch reached the Vetseras' house in the Sales- 
ianergasse he was surprised to find that apparently the 
Baroness Marie was expecting him. He gave her the 
letter and asked for an answer. She informed him, how- 
ever, that she was going back with him at once to Mayer- 
ling, and asked him to drive off to the Ringstrasse, so that 
she might not be seen from her home going away with him. 
Bratfisch did not fail to notice the girl's tear-stained eyes, 
and conjectured that, having already had news of the 
events at the Hofburg, and fearing the Crown Prince's 
eventual submission to his father's will, she wanted to be at 
his side at once. Being an unceremonious, queer fellow, 
he did not hesitate to beg her not to try to force matters, 
but to listen to His Imperial Highness's instructions, as- 
suring her the latter was more than ever determined to 
stand by her. But she shook her he^d, and, with her tears 
welling up again, declared that she must go back with him 
at once, for if she hesitated only twenty-four hours she 
would be forced to marry another man. And she went on 
to tell him — she too looking on him as a friend rather than 
a servant — that the previous evening the Nuncio's secre- 
tary had come to her mother, with the Emperor's confes- 
sor, Father Laurenz Mayer, to tell her that the Emperor 
knew of the Crown Prince's affection and plans for her 

184 



daughter, and had ordered that she was to be married to 
someone else — a certain nobleman — within twenty-four 
hours. 

It was probably the Emperor's intention thus to put an 
end, once for all, to this love affair. But, said my mother, 
the schemes of the conspirators against Rudolf here were 
quite different from the Emperor's. It was not to their 
interest to bring matters to such a conclusion. Otherwise 
Marie Vetsera would never have succeeded in getting away 
unchecked as she did. 

When she reached Mayer ling, Rudolf could not believe, 
his eyes, and his anger was unbounded when he heard what 
a trick was to have been played upon him. 

Commissioner Habrda had arranged to report at the 
Holy Cross monastery all events that took place at the 
hunting-lodge. It was Loschegg and Bratfisch who told 
my mother, later on, how they had discovered that Habrda, 
having the Crown Prince under observation constantly 
during the past year, had reported regularly at Mayerling 
to the Abbot Grunbeck, or in Vienna to Gottfried Mar- 
schall. Scarcely therefore had Marie Vetsera reached the 
hunting-lodge when the news was taken to the monastery, 
and from there transmitted at once to Vienna. 

In the course of the morning one of the most esteemed 
journalists in Vienna, Edgard von Spiegel, had been re- 
ceived by the Crown Prince, and this too, of course, was 
reported. 

The Nuncio in Vienna is not only the accredited repre- 
sentative of the Pope at the Court, but also the highest 
spiritual authority for the Imperial family. In the lat- 
ter capacity Galimberti thought it his duty to inform the 
Emperor of what was going on at Mayerling. But he 
represented the Crown Prince's conduct as if he had in- 
tentionally disobeyed his father's command and sent Brat- 
fisch to fetch Marie Vetsera to Mayerling. Then, choos- 
ing his time well, he told the Emperor that the secret 
police had discovered that for a long time past the Crown 
Prince had been conspiring with Hungary against both 
Church and State, and had the intention of flying to that 

185 



country with Marie Vetsera, whom he would doubtless 
marry there. 

These last details, as well as what follows next, my 
mother heard from Prince Rudolf Liechtenstein, Grand 
Master_of the Horse to the Emperor, and one of her most 
devoted friends. 

After what the Nuncio told him, the Emperor sent 
Prince Liechtenstein to summon Baron Bolfrass, head of 
the military department of the government. To Bolfrass 
he gave orders to take a detachment of soldiers and go to 
Mayerling, where, in the name of His Imperial Majesty, 
as well as on behalf of the relatives of the Baroness Marie 
Vetsera, he was to demand her surrender by the Crown 
Prince. In case of resistance, the latter was to be ar- 
rested with all due form and consideration for his exalted 
rank. The hunting-lodge was to be surrounded by a mili- 
tary cordon and then to be searched. All this should, if 
possible, take place at night, so as to attract less attention. 

Prince Liechtenstein hastened at once to my mother to 
inform her of her son's danger. Instantly she in her turn 
hurried to the Emperor. She found him in a state of 
speechless fury. It was in his nature to be able to control 
himself for a long time, but when his anger did break out 
it took him long to subdue it again. 

Mother insisted that the aim of all these machinations 
against her son was his destruction ; it was this his enemies 
desired. But the Emperor would not hear of it, and re- 
fused to yield. The evidence produced by her he con- 
sidered ridiculous and incredible. He asked her whether 
she had already forgotten Rudolf 's behaviour on the pre- 
vious day, and whether, after that, she wished to persuade 
him that there was a plot against the Crown Prince. On 
the contrary, it was he who was plotting — plotting high 
treason and the dishonour of his house. 

" And it is you," cried mother in despair, " who will bear 
the blame of his death." 

"Better death than dishonour!" replied the Emperor 
grimly, little thinking what terrible words he was utter- 
ing. 

186 



Mother was about to hasten away, horror-stricken, but 
the Emperor, either repenting of his violence or unwilling 
to give her a chance of informing Rudolf, took her by the 
hand and attempted to calm her. The case was not so 
tragic as she tried to make out, he said. This would 
merely be a good lesson, such as Rudolf required, and one 
that he would remember. 

So an hour passed by, and with it all possibility of 
mother doing anything for Rudolf. 

At Mayerling, Marie Vetsera had spent the whole even- 
ing alone in the Crown Prince's study, which he had placed 
at her disposal, while he, to avoid comment, passed the 
time until midnight with his friends in the dining-room. 
The visitors all declared afterwards that they had known 
nothing of the Baroness Vetsera's presence in the house; 
and the equerries on duty with the Crown Prince, Counts 
Hoyos and Bombelles, said the same. At all events, they 
all thought it wise to pretend to have known nothing. 

They went to bed comparatively early, as they were to 
be up betimes the next day for hunting. Rudolf did not 
intend to accompany them; he dared not leave Marie for 
a moment without the protection of his presence. Rut, of 
course, he did not say a word about this to the others. 
Whether he really had the plan in his head of an escape to 
Hungary is unknown. It is not improbable, however, for 
he had had this solution of his difficulties in view for long. 

According to Loschegg's account, about one o'clock 
everything was silent in the place. His own room was in 
the private suite of the Crown Prince, quite close to the 
latter's bedroom. He had scarcely got off to sleep when 
he was awakened by a knock at the entrance door to the 
private apartments. He sprang out of bed to call his 
master. But the Prince, having been in a state of feverish 
excitement all day, had been lying awake and was already 
up. Swiftly telling Marie to conceal herself and taking 
his revolver, he went to the door of the ante-room, but he 
did not open it. Who was there, he asked. A messenger 
from His Imperial Majesty, was the answer, Baron Bol- 
frass. Rudplf declined to receive him at that hour, and 

187 



asked him to return in the morning. 

Baron Bolfrass persisted in his demand for admission. 
The Prince again declared that it was impossible. Bol- 
frass grew more and more urgent, and said that he would 
be obliged to force an entrance. Understanding the dan- 
ger to which he was exposing himself if he still refused, 
Rudolf hastily assured himself Jhat Marie was in safe hid- 
ing, and then let Bolfrass in. 

So far Loschegg had been at his master's side. Now he 
was compelled to withdraw, but he remained listening at 
the door and overheard almost everything. 

Bolfrass demanded Marie Vetsera's surrender. Rudolf 
obstinately refused it. For a time they parleyed. Then 
Loschegg heard the Baron raise his voice, up to now quite 
low, and say: " In that case, I am compelled to have the 
house searched and to arrest your Imperial Highness in 
the name of His Majesty! " 

There was silence for a few minutes, then steps were 
audible outside, and Loschegg heard his master cry: 

" The first man who dares enter I shall shoot down! " 

Upon this, without waiting a moment, Loschegg rushed 
into the rt>om. But already a shot rang out from the 
Crown Prince's revolver, and a man fell — a gamekeeper. 
There was no time for reflection now; the room was full 
of people, who could scarcely be distinguished in the dim 
light. Other shots were fired. The Crown Prince fell, 
was beaten, trampled upon, and disfigured beyond recogni- 
tion. Marie Vetsera, who, regardless of her own safety, 
had probably rushed in at the beginning, also fell, with a 
shot in her back. 

Who was the guilty party? Who fired the fatal shots? 
It would be impossible to sajr. Certainly there was not 
one, but several criminals. And were they not, after all, 
mere tools in the hands of an infamous gang? 

Bratfisch noticed, looking out of a window casually a 
short time afterwards, that the lodge was surrounded by 
soldiers. He said also that the Duke of Coburg called 
together all the servants and employees at Mayerling, and 
made them all swear upon their word of honour to keep 

188 



silence. 

Almost immediately Habrda turned Loschegg and 
Bratfisch out of the private apartments. He was playing 
the master, who only twenty-four hours previously had as- 
sured them of his friendship. 

The dreadful task of taking the news to the Hofburg 
fell to Count Hoyos. He himself was limping from the 
effect of the blows which he had received while trying to 
help the Crown Prince. 

Prince Liechtenstein was the first to whom the horrible 
story was told. He had promised mother to bring her 
word as soon as he received information from Mayerling. 

These two gentlemen were at their wits' end as to what 
was to be done. At last they decided to go first of all to 
the Empress, and as- gently as possible to break the news 
to her, before communicating with the Emperor. But no 
sooner did they stand in her presence, before they coulcT 
utter a word, she whispered faintly, as though turned to 
stone : 
*" They have murdered him! " 

CHAPTER XXI 



In the preceding chapter I have recorded as faithfully as 
I could what I learnt from my mother's own lips concern- 
ing the life and death of my brother Rudolf. I wish now 
to add a few remarks of my own about the affair of Mayer- 
ling, and then to say something about the situation pro- 
duced thereafter. 

It is easy to see that such a story as has just been told 
could not be made public. It was not merely a question 
of defiling the honour of the house of Habsburg and the 
reputation of several more or less high personages, but 
the prestige of the religious hierarchy, that rotten pillar of 

i Before reading this chapter the reader must be warned that the bulk of 
it was written before the terrible affair of Sarajevo. See p. 262 for the ad- 
ditions since made to the chapter. 

189 



the Empire which could only be kept standing by the 
greatest exertions, must also be preserved. The safety of 
the Crown, of the very State itself, was at stake. Thir- 
teen years later the whole world shuddered at the tale of 
how the Servians had butchered the wretched King Alex- 
ander and his Draga, claiming to save their country from 
destruction. But my brother, the Crown Prince Rudolf, 
was no perverse creature like Alexander of Servia. What 
must one be prepared for if the truth about Rudolf's death 
became known? The throne would have been forfeited 
for ever by those who coveted it so. The clericals would 
have lost their power, the secretly fermenting troubles all 
over the Empire would have come to a head, especially in 
Hungary. The peace of all Europe would have been im- 
perilled. 

There is a German proverb which says : 

" Aber nichts ist so fein gesponnen 
Es kommit doch an die Sonnen." 

(Nothing is so finely spun that the sun does not shine 
through.) Let us hope that the day is not far distant 
when the regime which brought about the death of the 
heir-apparent will be destroyed for ever. 

That the reactionary party is still all-powerful can be 
proved from the careers, before and after Mayerling, of j 
two of the most active members of the conspiracy. Gott- 
fried Marschall, who till then, in spite of his having been 
the Archduke Franz-Ferdinand's tutor, has risen no higher 
than the rectorship of the Votive Church in Vienna, from 
this time onward advanced rapidly. He soon became 
Bishop- Coadjutor of Vienna; and there is no doubt that 
if he had not died before the old Prince Bishop, Dr. 
Gruscha, he would on the latter's death have stepped into 
his place. 2 

But the case of the Rev. Gottfried Marschall is quite 
unimportant compared with that of Commissioner Johann 

2 Marschall did not die on good terms with his former pupil, Franz-Ferdi- 
nand, for the reason that he was opposed to the Countess Chotek and would 
not use his influence at the Vatican in her favour. 

190 



Habrda. In modern times Austria can show no other 
example of such a career. To appreciate fully its as- 
tonishing character, one has to know what a Golgotha is 
the ordinary career of Austrian officials. They cannot 
live on their pay for a number of years, during which they 
are practically beggars, and even at the age of thirty they 
have but a mere pittance. If a man has influence, money, 
and intelligence, he can advance a step on the ladder of 
promotion every three years. But that is the shortest 
time in which it can be done. Habrda was only in the 
seventh class — that is to say, the lowest but three of the 
ten which had to be gone through — when he was ap- 
pointed commissioner in the service of the Crown Prince, 
and had taken fifteen to eighteen years (I cannot be cer- 
tain of the exact figure) to rise even so high. It is clear, 
therefore, that before Mayerling he was not one of the 
lucky ones. After the Crown Prince's death, however, 
he passed through the remaining seven classes in the space 
of eight years — an average of little less than one class a 
year as against the previous one class in five or six years. 
In 1897 he became President of the Viennese Police, the 
most important police official in the Empire. In addition 
he was created a baron and received all the highest decora- 
tions a man can get except the Golden Fleece. This was 
a man whose father was a poor carpenter, scarcely able to 
provide for his son's early education. Is it necessary to 
argue from what quarter came the protection that was ex- 
tended to him? How was it that the commissioner to 
whom the care of the Crown Prince was confided was not 
dismissed at once after the catastrophe ? How was it that, 
so far from being dismissed, he was, on the contrary, over- 
whelmed with honours and dignities? Is not this man's 
career a living proof of the truth of my mother's story? 

By one of the little tricks Fate plays, the evidence is 
preserved which makes for truth and justice. The people 
of Austria-Hungary have, in the career just described, the 
grain of sand which can bring to an end the working of 
the machinery that caused Mayerling. If they desire, 
they have the power to obtain satisfaction for that crime. 

191 



But will they desire? 

With the death of the Crown Prince Rudolf the succes- 
sion left the male descendants of the Emperor Francis- 
Joseph and went to those of his brother Karl-Ludwig, 
after the death of the latter in 1896. In that year the 
Archduke Franz-Ferdinand became heir-presumptive, the 
reversion of the throne being to the elder son of his dead 
brother Otto. 

The Archduke Franz-Ferdinand has been mentioned 
several times in this book, but not discussed at any length. 
My mother did not often speak to me about him; most at 
the time when he spoilt our little excursion at Territet. 
To her he appeared dull, utterly lacking in idealism, and 
devoid of personality. As a boy he was mild compared 
with his brother Otto, who early showed signs of becoming 
the ruffian that he later on was universally acknowledged 
to be. He was very affectionate to his sister Margaret- 
Sophia, who afterwards married the Duke Albert of Wur- 
temberg and died in 1902. He was always on good terms 
with his stepmother, Maria-Theresa of Braganza, his own 
mother, Anunciada of Bourbon- Sicily, having died when 
he was quite young. His clinging to his wife, in the face 
of strong opposition, and his care for his little family 
proved that he was by no means deficient in domestic 
affection, which must be counted to him for virtue. 

After Rudolf's death very little was seen of the Arch- 
duke Franz-Ferdinand in public. In fact, he seemed to 
be very much hidden away. This was, no doubt, partly 
due to the state of his health, for his lungs were affected, 
and consumption was recognised as present. He was ob- 
liged to spend time in the pursuit of health, some of it 
on a long sea-voyagfe. His condition improved, but he 
did not become robust, and during the past two or three 
years reports of his shattered constitution were renewed. 

He began to be more visible to the public after his mar- 
riage in July, 1900, to the Countess Sophie Chotek. In 
fact, he might often be seen thereafter walking down the 
Prater. He is decidedly bourgeois in very many of his 

192 



ways. He is good at business, for example, and by some 
might be styled mercenary. He owns a dairy, which is 
called after his name, and has also entered into competition 
with the leading monumental mason in Vienna, Eduard 
Hauser. Such a trait does not endear him to the Vien- 
nese. 

A legend has been spread of his " strong will " since he 
was officially recognised as heir-presumptive, but it has no 
foundation in fact. He had no will before his marriage, 
and it is his wife who is the strong-willed one. But he has 
strong prejudices, as for instance, against Italy, hating the 
house of Savoy as despoilers of the Church. On the ques- 
tion of the rights of Hungary, too, he feels deeply. In- 
deed, by his attitude over this question he first became 
prominent in the politics of the Empire, using his influence 
with Francis- Joseph against the Hungarians. He is a 
firm advocate of increased armament, working hand in 
hand in this with General Conrad von Hotzendorf, whose 
appointment as General of the Staff he warmly advocated. 

No one ever speaks about the Archduke Franz- 
Ferdinand without mentioning the word bigotry. But 
truly he has some reason, apart from his own leanings to- 
ward this form of religious fervour, to be a bigot. His 
father was bigoted, his stepmother is bigoted, and, more 
important still in his case, his wife is bigoted. 

There is no necessity to say much about his marriage 
with the Countess Chotek, since the facts are so well 
known. She was a Bohemian lady-in-waiting to the Arch- 
duchess Isabella. 3 Franz-Ferdinand fell in love with her, 
the Archduchess discovered the secret, and dismissed her. 
Franz-Ferdinand, playing upon his uncle's fears of a new 
addition to the ever-growing list of scandals in the Im- 
perial family, forced him to consent to a marriage, which, 
however, could only be morganatic owing to the Countess 
not being of royal blood, nor even of one of the families 
eligible for marriage with royalty. 

3 The Princess Isabella, of Croy-Dulmen, married to the Archduke Fred- 
erick of Austria, a descendant of the famous Archduke Charles. The Arch- 
duke Frederick is the wealthiest of the Archdukes. 

193 



The Countess Chotek after her marriage entered the 
Imperial Court as the next in rank to the last lady of the 
old princely families. This did not suit her at all; but 
she had the Emperor to win over to her side before she 
could improve her position. She was clever enough to do 
this, but only by degrees. He created her Furstin von 
Hohenberg upon her marriage — Furstin, though trans- 
lated Princess, being lower in rank than Duchess. About 
five years ago she insisted that she ought to come imme- 
diately after the Archduchesses. Her pretensions were 
supported by the conduct of the German Emperor, who 
paid her marked attention upon the occasion of a visit by 
her to Berlin, and Francis- Joseph gave way. He made 
the heir-presumptive's wife Duchess (Herzogin) of 
Hohenberg, whereby she now ranked as she wished, imme- 
diately after the Archduchesses. 

Nor did the Duchess of Hohenberg' s ambitions stop 
there. She aimed at dominating the old Emperor. In- 
deed, until about four years ago, she felt herself so strong 
that she thought she could supplant the Archduchess 
Marie-Valerie. My sister, however, was not so easily 
beaten. A curious scene took place at Pola, where was a 
warship to be christened, and the god-parents were Franz- 
Ferdinand and Marie-Valerie. But when the Duchess 
of Hohenberg and Marie- Valerie met they quarrelled so 
badly that their two husbands had to take them away, not 
unnoticed by their suites. 

The Duchess is clever, it has been said. At one time 
used to mask her cleverness, but now it is generally recog- 
nised, and concealment is impossible. One of her most 
useful possessions is a very flexible backbone, and it is 
through this that she has been able to conquer the Em- 
peror. She has a good business head, like her husband, 
and is a successful speculator. She is lacking in refine- 
ment, especially in her manners. Yet she has tried in her 
pose to imitate my mother — in vain, as may be imagined. 
She speaks German with a strong Czech accent, which cre- 
ates a bad impression when she is heard for the first time. 

She has borne her husband three children, the eldest a 

194 



girl and the others two boys, and the marriage from the 
domestic point of view has turned out happily enough. 
The marriages of princes, however, are never considered 
purely from the domestic point of view. 

The fly in the ointment for the Archduke Franz-Ferdi- 
nand and is wife is, of course, that their union is only mor- 
ganatic and that she cannot become Empress, while their 
sons are not eligible to ascend the throne. Franz-Ferdi- 
nand's heir, imperially, is his nephew, the Archduke Karl- 
Franz-Joseph, elder son of the infamous Otto. That is to 
say, the nephew will be heir unless the Austrian constitu- 
tion and the family law of the Habsburgs are both 
amended. It is fairly certain that Franz-Ferdinand ori- 
ginally intended to get all the rights he could for his wife 
(and therefore for his children) out of the Emperor. But 
he now sees that the aged Francis-Joseph is not strong 
enough to do what he wanted him to do. Consequently 
the game has to be played differently. Franz-Ferdinand 
and the Duchess of Hohenberg have most powerful allies, 
the Jesuits. In return for binding themselves to them, 
body and soul, husband and wife have all the resources of 
the order behind them. The advice which they have re- 
ceived is to keep very quiet and do nothing to provoke op- 
position yet. It is even thought that the rumours of 
Franz-Ferdinand's shattered health are purposely spread 
that he may be thought to be now a negligible quantity. 
His interest in Balkan affairs, his anti-Italian activity at 
the time of the war in Tripoli, and above all his quarrel 
with Count Aehrenthal, were no doubt considered to have 
brought him into unwise prominence, necessitating a 
temporary retreat. 

The curious attitude of the heir-presumptive and his 
wife toward the Hungarians is probably also part of this 
subtle scheme. Franz-Ferdinand opposes Hungarian 
pretensions and pays no more than bare official visits to 
the country. The Duchess avoids it entirely. Such con- 
duct has been denounced as foolish, but those who advise 
it know their business. The Hungarians are an enthusi- 
astic people when they conceive an affection for anyone, as 

195 



my mother learnt early in her life. She was an idol to 
them from the moment they saw her. Such enthusiasm in 
Hungary provokes a very different response in Vienna, 
and is therefore to be avoided by the heir-presumptive. 
The Duchess of Hohenberg will show herself in Hungary 
after her husband's accession to the throne. She will then 
wipe out the memories of past indifference. So at least it 
is hoped, though it is doubtful whether the Hungarians 
will forgive her anxiety to clericalise their country and her 
use of her influence in favour of making the Hungarian 
divorce laws more stringent four years ago. 

What makes it specially needful for Franz-Ferdinand 
to go carefully is the existence of a strong party in oppo- 
sition to him. If the Crown Prince Rudolf, the Em- 
peror's own son, had a cabal against him, how could the 
Emperor's nephew, saddled with a wife whose existence 
threatens State and family laws, escape? The heads of 
the opposition now are the Archduchess Marie-Valerie, the 
Archduchess Maria-Josepha, widow of the Archduke Otto 
and mother of the next heir; and the Archduchess Isabella. 
My sister's hostility needs no further explanation. Maria- 
Josepha, a handsome, simple, and upright woman, who 
now leads a very retired existence, was, as long as her hus- 
band lived, the first Archduchess of the whole Court, as 
prospective Empress. Her enmity toward the Duchess 
of Hohenberg can also easily be understood. As for the 
Archduchess Isabella, it is no secret that she was seriously 
annoyed with Franz-Ferdinand because he did not take to 
wife her daughter rather than her lady-in-waiting. 

The photograph here reproduced is a curious one inas- 
much as it shows the three feminine heads of the opposi- 
tion in a group together. Their male companion is the 
Archduke Ferdinand-Karl, younger brother of the Arch- 
dukes Franz-Ferdinand and Otto. Like Franz-Ferdi- 
nand, he has made a morganatic marriage, his wife being 
Bertha Tschuber, a Viennese professor's daughter and a 
very charming woman. He is known as Ferdinand Burg, 
and lives exiled from Court, while she has been created a 
Baroness. 

196 



The strength of the party opposed to the present heir 
apparently lies in the number of members of the Imperial 
family which it includes. Austria-Hungary swarms with 
Archdukes and Archduchesses, owing to the custom by 
which the title extends to all legitimate members of the 
family. The sympathy of such is naturally in favour of 
legitimism, which excludes morganatic unions. The Em- 
peror Francis-Joseph found this the case when he ex- 
tended his protection to the Duchess of Hohenberg, and 
was angry at the difficulties put in his wajr. On one oc- 
casion at Court he positively commanded his granddaugh- 
ter Elisabeth, Rudolf's daughter, to take her seat next the 
Duchess. But Elisabeth herself had married out of her 
rank, being the wife of Prince Otto of Windischgratz. 

Since the above was written, the Archduke Franz-Ferdi- 
nand and his wife were brutally cut off by the hand of an 
assassin at Sarajevo, Bosnia, on Sunday, June 28th. I 
have thought it better, however, not to alter what I wrote, 
but rather to add a few pages to this chapter, first concern- 
ing the crime and its effects, and secondly concerning the 
new heir-presumptive and his wife. 

There can, of course, be no two views as to the assassina- 
tion, which has been denounced all over the civilised world. 
The Serb nationality of the murderer recalls the fact that 
the late Archduke was in favour of crushing the Servians, 
whom he did not like. [Among the races composing the 
population of the Empire he favoured only the Czechs, 
his wife's people.] In return the Servians hated him, so 
that there was a special motive for the crime. It is diffi- 
cult, however, to resist the suspicion that there was more 
behind it than has come out, or perhaps will ever come out, 
and that Servia alone should not bear all the blame. Be 
that as it may, it cannot be doubted that the removal of 
Franz-Ferdinand and his wife came as a relief to many. 
The Court as a whole watched with apprehension the way 
in which the old Emperor was harassed by the two parties, 
the adherents and the enemies of the late heir-apparent; 
and from its point of view the future looks much more 

197 



peaceful now. The Duchess of Hohenberg was the main 
cause of fear, not her husband. There were those who re- 
garded her as a potential Catherine de Medici, whose am- 
bitions might work incalculable harm. Now that she is 
dead they breathe again. 

About the new heir-presumptive these people feel that 
it is permissible to entertain, hopes. The Archduke Karl- 
Franz- Joseph is not an important man ; the training of an 
archduke does not tend to produce such. He is not only 
young in years — being born in August, 1887 — but also 
young for his years. He might even be called childish. 
He is credited by gossip with having been to see " The 
Waltz Dream " fifty times ; and he has a strong liking for 
cinema shows. About six j^ears ago he was put for a week 
under " house arrest " for firing at targets in the neigh- 
bourhood of a powder magazine, which was certainly a 
foolish escapade. But he is not known to be worse than 
unduly young. On the other hand, the Emperor Francis- 
Joseph, who was already an old man when his grand- 
nephew was a baby, has always watched his development 
with interest and had much to say with regard to his edu- 
cation, about which his father Otto naturally troubled lit- 
tle. From the beginning of his life almost, or, to be pre- 
cise, from the age of two, Karl (as he is called in the 
family) was regarded as a possible heir-presumptive. 
After the Crown Prince Rudolf's death there only stood 
between him and the throne his grandfather, the Arch- 
duke Karl-Ludwig, who was fifty-six years old; his uncle, 
Franz-Ferdinand, whose health was very precarious; and 
his father, whose accession was out of the question. 
Therefore his eventual rise to his present position had al- 
ways to be kept in view by the Emperor and the rest of 
the family. Doubtless this is partly accountable for the 
fact that he and Franz-Ferdinand were not on good terms, 
the nephew never paying a visit to the uncle's country 
home at Konopischt, in Bohemia, although he lived quite 
near. 

Karl-Franz-Joseph came over to England for the coro- 
nation of King George V., being the representative of the 

198 



Emperor on that occasion. 

In his looks, the young Archduke is by no means so 
striking as was his father, being in fact rather slight, 
though his figure is good. Of his attainments the princi- 
pal one is that he speaks languages well. He is very cler- 
ical in his views, as was also his mother. 

But the new heir is very much of a closed book, and his 
tendencies, being kept under, are unknown. A fate which 
seems to threaten him is that he may become the puppet of 
parties. At present the chief influences with him, as also 
with his wife, the Archduchess Zita, are his mother Marie- 
Josepha, and her aunt Maria-Theresa, who was the Arch- 
duke Karl-Ludwig's third and last wife. 

The Archduchess Zita herself, the prospective Empress, 
may have a rather good influence over her husband, if she 
can manage to keep it — which is very difficult for an Aus- 
trian archduchess to do. She was one of the nineteen chil- 
dren of the late Duke Robert of Parma, by his second wife 
Marie-Antonia of Braganza. The duke was a very 
wealthy man, who cheerfully saw his duchy swallowed up 
by the kingdom of Italy when he was allowed to keep his 
riches. The Duchess came of a pious race, and her daugh- 
ter Zita is convent-bred and somewhat bigoted. But her 
convent was in the Isle of Wight, and her experience of 
foreign lands has prevented her becoming too narrow, 
though she remains bourgeoise. She is now, at the age of 
twenty-two, decidedly a nice woman, neither given to in- 
trigue nor fond of the limelight. Whether she will make 
a good Empress is perhaps a question. Self-effacement 
may well be carried too far. 

The little son of the Archduke and Archduchess, Franz- 
Joseph-Otto, is not yet two years old, while their daugh- 
ter's age is only reckoned by months. 

I have made a very long digression, and must now re- 
turn to my own story. 



199 



CHAPTER XXII 

I GO UNDER FIRE 

As the result of Frau von Friese's arguments with my 
mother, I continued to attend Fraulein Weigl's school; 
and really, as one day followed another, the coincidence of 
Bertha Habrda's presence there looked more and more 
innocent. Mother became somewhat reassured — the 
more so as she intended that I should pass the greater part 
of the winter at her side. 

On November 24th she left Vienna for Biarritz. " I 
shall let you come to Paris shortly after Christmas," she 
said to me on the 22nd, when she came to say good-bye to 
me. 

" To Paris ! " I exclaimed in ecstasy. 
' Yes, dearest. I never thought of it before. The 
place is so big that we shall be better off there than any- 
where else. We shall be together again in the same hotel, 
and I will remain there the whole winter with you. In the 
spring we will go again together to Switzerland, so that 
my Babe will be all the time at my side." 

Was I happy? I cannot say how happy. The long 
winter, usually so horrible, would this year be all delight- 
ful. I should rejoice to get away from Vienna, to rid my- 
self of all my forbidden dreams of love and banish their 
memory in agreeable distractions. 

Mother had left, and I spent my time daily from nine 
o'clock to two in the sewing-school. She had solemnly 
warned me to be on the qui vive, and this was really the 
only thing which made it worth while for me to go ; for to 
this day I hate any work with the needle, and it was not 
less distasteful to me then. 

The three new girls were v.ry friendly to me, and we 
spent some very pleasant hours together. Hardly had my 
mother left Vienna when Laura asked them to come to her 
mother's reception-day, which they did. I was not al- 
lowed to go, and so did not meet them there. But some 
time after Bertha Habrda asked if we might come to see 

200 



her. Just at this time her father was nominated Presi- 
dent of the Vienna Police, the highest position in the entire 
police-force of Austria. The family had magnificent 
apartments, comprising the whole of the first floor of the 
police building in the Ringstrasse. 

I was a little suspicious — but, I must confess, at least 
as much of the Kaisers as of the Habrdas. It struck me 
considerably that Laura had invited them immediately 
after mother had left Vienna. Why had she not done so 
either before or a little later? Of course mother had for- 
bidden me to mention her suspicions to the Kaisers, and so 
they were unaware that she was at all alarmed. The mat- 
ter seemed to me worth more than passing attention. 

Well, as I have said, Bertha invited me together with 
Laura. They believed, or affected to believe, that we 
were sisters, and some excuse had been made for my ab- 
sence when they came to visit the Kaisers. Bertha gave 
us the invitation at the school. I had expected it, and so 
also had Frau von Friese. The day after Bertha was at 
Laura's home, my governess had said to me, " Now you 
will be invited to President Habrda's." 

" Yes," said I, " and what shall I do? " 

Was I scared? she asked. Not in the least, I replied; 
but nevertheless, unconsciously, my heart was beating so 
rapidly as to make me uncomfortable. 

" Now don't tell fibs to me, my dear child," said Frau 
von Friese, with a smile. " Your mother would be tor- 
tured at the mere idea of your being there. But you are 
not a baby any more, Lily, and it is no longer necessary 
to make you believe it wrong to keep something secret 
from your mother, if it is for her peace of mind and for the 
sake of her health. On the other hand, I wish you to have 
both courage and self-control, which you cannot without 
the opportunity to exercise them. In short, I want you to 
go to the house of the President of Police. There is no 
danger. If there was I would not dare to send you. But 
I too have my spies, who are very reliable, and during the 
hour that you are there they will be near you to guard you, 
although I know it is a needless precaution," 

201 



Noticing my continued excitement, which my very in- 
ability to speak betrayed, she told me that it was just be- 
cause she knew I should be walking as if on needles that it 
would be so good for me to go to the Habrdas. I must 
learn to go under fire. And there was something else 
which she had to tell me, which would astonish me greatly. 
Although there was, as she said, no immediate danger, she 
no longer suspected that there was a plot against me, she 
knew it! I must not think that my double existence, my 
life as Miss Lily Kaiser and my other secret one, was un- 
known to the people who had nothing to do except dis- 
cover such matters. The day after my mother had told 
her who Bertha Habrda was, she had set her organisation x 
to work, and they had found out that Habrda had orders 
to become personally acquainted with me. Indeed, he was 
told that to some extent his nomination tp the just about 
to be vacant Presidency of Police depended upon his suc- 
cess in this matter. 

" But why Habrda in particular? " I demanded. 

" Because," said Frau von Priese, taking my two hands 
into hers and looking gravely and earnestly with her great 
steel-grey eyes into mine, " because he has already shown 
himself to be a reliable man." 

"Oh, very well!" I cried. "He was my brother's 
police-superintendent, and now you wish me to go to his 
house. I will go — with a revolver in my hand, to blow 
his brains out and so make one less in the company of 
scoundrels ! " 

At this outburst Frau von Friese laughed aloud, and 
now taking my face between her hands, she said : 

" No, you little volcano, not to do that, but to look in the 
scoundrel's eyes. Take a good look at him, and learn in 
one lesson what 3^ou have to expect from such a man. 
Further, you will meet at his house all the men of whom 
you have to beware. First of all there will be Chief Com- 

1 1 know the name of the police commissioner who was the chief of those 
whom Frau von Friese called her " spies " ; but as he is still living and 
in the police it would not be right to divulge it. He was a good friend to 
Frau von Friese. At the same time he was on friendly terms with Commis- 
sioner Georg Bayerl. 

202 



missioner Camillo Windt, who in a short time will be 
head of the secret police. Then there will be Commis- 
sion Georg Bayerl, in a few weeks' time to be the superin- 
tendent in charge of the Emperor's safety ; and Chief Com- 
missioner Stuckhart, though he is of less importance ; and 
others, at all of whom you must look as hard as they will 
look at you. They will talk little, or not at all, to you; 
but they will stamp your features on their memory. They 
must see in you a thoughtless young girl, who does not 
pay any attention to them. Still less must it occur to 
them that you have any suspicions. Clever plotters as 
they are, they never would believe that I should let you 
go there if I was even slightly aware of what was going 
on." 

At this moment Frau von Friese was really beautiful. 
Her cheeks flushed with excitement, and her eyes shone, 
though the tone of her voice was still soft and even. She 
was once again, after so long a time, my dear old cheer- 
ful Frau von Friese. I threw both my arms about her 
neck and kissed her vehemently. The escapade was much 
to my liking. I had now lost all fear. And so, about a 
week later, I went to visit at the President's home. 

In spite of my courage, I must admit that I felt a little 
troubled when I entered the great building, at every cor- 
ner of which was a policeman. On the landing of the 
stairs to the first floor, barring the way to the President's 
apartments, was a high iron gate. There came over me 
the impression of entering a prison as I passed through it, 
and I seemed already to feel the chains clanking about my 
feet. But all such feelings passed away immediately I 
entered the private hall, where a footman took our cloaks. 

There were only a few girls and ladies present; no 
gentlemen as yet. The Habrdas were descended from 
very simple middle-class people, as was most evident even 
at this time when they were at the height of their power. 
At tea we all sat down round the table quite a la bour- 
geoise. Frau Mabrda poured out the tea. It was very 
cosy and old-fashioned, and I laughed to myself in think- 
ing of what I had expected and what I really found. 

203 



While we were drinking tea, a short fat little man, with 
keen small eyes, entered the dining-room. " Here comes 
papa," said Bertha. She introduced him to Laura and 
myself, as we were the only persons he did not seem to 
know. He sat down at the table, very friendly to all and 
full of fun. 

" Which is the elder of the two young ladies? " he 
asked, looking at me. " You both seem to be of the same 
age." 

" How is it those two sisters do not in the slightest re- 
semble each other? " he said again. While he was making 
these remarks, the little piercing eyes were roving from 
one to the other. I realised that he would soon make me 
feel uncomfortable with his banter. Immediately I felt 
a secret repugnance for this man; and, perhaps for the first 
time in my life, I was sorry not to be an openly acknowl- 
edged Archduchess of Austria. How pleasing it would 
have been to me to have been crushingly arrogant to the 
man. Looking at him I could not help thinking, " You 
coward, it is you that let them kill my brother ! " 

After tea we were shown over the apartments, President 
Habrda accompanying us. Adjoining the living-rooms 
were his official apartments, which could be thrown open 
to communicate with the private rooms, if needed for large 
receptions. 

" Do you want to see my workshop, too? " he said jok- 
ingly ; and with this he opened the padded door which sepa- 
rated his office from the rest. The girls played about a 
little and seemed rather amused at the handcuffs lying on 
his desk. In the meantime, he engaged me in conversa- 
tion, explaining to me that it happened sometimes that he 
even had to use them himself on obstreperous prisoners. 
By this time the other girls had passed into another room, 
while I was forced to remain. I could scarcely any more 
take in half of what he was saying to me. I kept impress- 
ing on myself, " Keep calm. Don't show any embarrass- 
ment! It may be only a test to see if you are suspicious." 
But, to tell the truth, I thought myself lost already, ex- 
pecting the floor to open under my feet every moment. I 

204 



did not dare to suggest we should follow the others for 
fear of precipitating my disappearance ! 

He talked of matters quite uninteresting to me, and all 
the while his little eyes seemed to pierce me through. But 
I resisted these looks successfully. The longer they con- 
tinued the calmer I grew, until at last he said, " Shall we 
rejoin the rest?" Thereupon he reopened the door, 
which had closed automatically. I felt as if I had a new 
lease of life. Only with difficulty was I able to suppress 
my sigh of relief at what seemed to me a narrow escape. 

It did not appear to me that the President was a good 
dissimulator, for he treated me with far too much distinc- 
tion among the school-friends of his daughter. Perhaps 
he intended thereby to embarrass me. If so, he did not 
succeed. 

When I re-entered the large reception-room, I found 
that a few other guests had arrived. They were mostly 
very insignificant people. One only of them had the same 
piercing eyes as my host. He was introduced to me as 
Commissioner Camillo Windt. 

" Oh, that is you," I thought to myself, " the chief of the 
secret police. You have a bad face, and I must beware of 
you." 

Commissioner Georg Bayerl was also there. There was 
nothing remarkable about his face, though he was rather 
good-looking. He was clearly one of those who obey the 
orders of others. 

As Frau von Friese had said, they did not speak to me ; 
but, every time I happened to glance towards Camillo 
Windt, I noticed that his eyes were fixed on me. 

After another half -hour we left. I was glad to have 
got it over. Going downstairs, I went first, hurrying on 
before Laura and Mina, and I smiled as I noticed how my 
poor maid hastened to my side as if to protect me. I 
could not speak because of Laura's presence, but I had 
much ado to prevent myself exclaiming: " Well, I have 
escaped all right ! " 

When I returned home I noticed that, in spite of her 
outward calm, Frau von Friese was very uneasy, and she 

205 



could not refrain from clasping both her arms about my 
neck and pressing me to her for a few minutes. 

" I was nearly lost, little mother," I said laughing. 
" That is to say, nobody tried to do me any harm, but had 
they wished to they had a splendid chance." Then I gave 
her all the details of my visit. She was so moved that at 
first she could not s.peak, and I had to reassure her by tell- 
ing her again that no one had really tried to harm me. 

From this day on, unless I went out with Frau von 
Friese, the faithful Pirker followed everywhere in my 
steps. I could no longer move without having one of them 
at my side. Frau von Friese strongly impressed upon me 
that I was never to leave the school by myself, and that at 
school I must keep with all the girls and never be alone for 
a moment. As for the Kaisers, I soon found out that they 
were quite ignorant of what was going on. Laura was 
too young to understand, Mrs. Kaiser too indifferent and 
careless. As for Mr. Kaiser, whatever suspicions he had, 
he did not say anything to his wife about them. But, on 
the very next day after my visit to the Habrdas, he came 
quite unexpectedly to my home in the Strohgasse. He 
wished to speak to Frau von Friese quite alone, he said. I 
could not imagine what was the matter with him. After 
he had gone, Frau von Fiese said to me, " Poor old gentle- 
man, he questioned Laura yesterday on her return; and 
after what she told him, especially when she said that the 
President seemed to have taken quite a fancy to you, he 
became very much worried and came over at once to warn 
me. 

From this day forward, Mr. Kaiser nearly always came 
himself fetch me from school. He was really a very 
worthy man, in spite of an insupportably irritable temper. 

The greater part of December passed by, with me ex- 
pecting every day an order from mother to join her in 
Paris. On the 18th Frau von Friese received these few 
lines from Biarritz: 

" Still the same sorrow, still the same troubles. Will 
write in more detail from Paris. Shall probably ask you 
to come there for the New Year." 

206 



This was disappointing. I had expected to be with 
mother on her birthday and for Christmas, but I was too 
much accustomed to these disappointments to fall into de- 
spair over them. 

On the 26th we had further bad news. Another letter 
came, in which mother wrote : 

" Since I have come to Paris, nry health seems to have 
grown worse. I tried Metzger's massage-cure, but it did 
me more harm than good. My physicians tell me that I 
must lose no time, but go south at once. I feel it myself. 
I can't stand Paris. I am leaving on the 28th for Mar- 
seilles, where the Countess Trani will meet me. I do not 
know how long she intends to remain with me. All this 
means turning my plans upside down and makes me worse 
than ever, so that now no cure can help me. I feel that 
my place is beside my child, and everything seems to con- 
spire to prevent my having her with me. As she grows up, 
all kinds of dangers are coming upon her. At night I 
get even less sleep than before. I alwaj^s imagine that 
something has happened to her. My heart ceases to beat 
when I get your letters, for fear of bad news. I can't 
help it. I am frightened to death of H . He is cap- 
able of anything. Day and night I dream of my darling 
being caught in some trap and tortured to death. I must 
make an end of all this, but I have also to wait for the 
right opportunity, and sometimes I feel that for the pres- 
ent I am unable to undergo such great^ excitements. As 
I say, 1 do not know when my sister is leaving me again, 
nor where I shall settle down. Just now the Miramar is 
awaiting me at Marseilles, so probably weeks will elapse 
before I can let you know where to join me. Poor darling, 
what a disappointment for her again. Make her life 
as pleasant as you can for her, dear Friese, and please, for 
God's sake, watch over her and protect her." 

I was perfectly desperate at this news. My poor 
mother was so ill, killing herself with useless worry — 
and I was unable to be at her side. I kept on thinking 

207 



that she was going to die. I was in such despair that Frau 
von Friese no longer knew what to do with me. She made 
inquiries concerning the real state of mother's health, and 
was told that, although it was very poor, there was no real 
danger of anything serious. This reassured me a little, 
but I could not overcome my melancholy still. 

The greater part of January passed without further 
news. Frau von Friese took me about, to the opera and 
to concerts; but music, far from cheering me, had a sad- 
dening effect upon me. 

My aunt Mathilde, Countess Trani, mother's youngest 
living sister, decided in the end to spend the winter with 
her. They went to San Remo, where they intended to re- 
main a few months. So once again mother had to write 
postponing our reunion. 

" During March," she said, " I shall again be at Ter- 
ritet, and there we will at last meet once more. The physi- 
cians want me to try all kinds of cures, but my only real 
help lies^in you, darling." 

The delays seemed endless. I became terribly discon- 
tented, and a sort of jealousy sprang up in me against my 
aunt, who was keeping my mother from me. The real 
fact of the matter was that mother, if not dangerously ill, 
was at least so bad that it would have been impossible for 
her to meet me in our usual way, for she could not go out 
alone without a companion. I am now strongly inclined 
to think that her state was due, in great part, to her be- 
lief that I was in grave peril and surrounded by enemies ; 
or perhaps she had even found out that I was really in 
some danger of which I myself was unaware. But at the 
time it seemed to me that mother was putting me aside for 
my aunt's sake. I thought that she might possibly have 
arranged for me to join her earlier than March, and a hor- 
rible feeling of loneliness came over me. 

All this time I continued to attend the sewing-school. 
One day we were sitting as usual round our table, when 
Bertha and her girl friends told us, choking with laughter 
as they did so, that Commissioners Windt and Bayerl were 
coming that morning to pay us a visit in school. We were 

208 



not to let Fraulein Weigl know that it was a joke, as they 
would come as though officially to inspect the school. For 
a moment I thought myself that it was really a joke, but 
the next I shrewdly suspected that they were paying a 
special visit to see me. 

Of course, poor Fraulein Weigl trembled when she 
heard the word " Police," and did not know what to think 
of the two gentlemen sitting down at our table, talking 
and chatting for half an hour. It seemed to her so ex- 
traordinary a proceeding that she could scarcely believe 
that they were there officially, or even that they belonged 
to the Police. To satisfy herself as to this last point she 
asked them to produce their badges, which they promptly 
did. If Fraulein Weigl was astonished at this, it at once 
confirmed my suspicion that they were there for some other 
purpose than a practical joke. Of course, it was not 
within the duties of their departments to inspect schools. 
What had the chief of the secret police to do with this? 
Still more, what had a commissioner in special charge of 
the Emperor to do with it? On the other hand, was it 
credible that they should use their office for the purpose of 
a joke upon an inoffensive schoolmistress, and risk the loss 
of their high positions, or at least expose themselves to a' 
severe reprimand? 

More than ever I felt the necessity of being on my 
guard. 

CHAPTER XXIII 

THE END OF LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM 

Toward the end of January, Elsa's mother and a few 
other ladies prominent in Viennese society got up a sort of 
dancing class, in which their young people might be taught 
some of the national dances, such as the Czardas and the 
Polish Great Mazurka. I had learned all these long be- 
fore, but Frau von Friese thought it might be some dis- 
traction for me, and so arranged that I should attend the 
class under the care of Mrs. Kaiser and the watchful eye 

209 



of Pirker, who shadowed me everywhere. Frau von 
Friese scarcely knew Frau von Thyr, as they had only 
met accidentally at the home of the Kaisers; and as Frau 
von Thyr was a conceited and arrogant woman, Frau von 
Friese had not been very cordial to her. I suppose that 
Frau von Thyr really knew something about me, and also 
what Frau von Friese's position was. While, being widow 
of a field-marshal and very well connected at Court, she 
preferred not to be too closely in touch with my affairs, on 
the other hand she was flattered to know that her daugh- 
ter was my only intimate friend. But to her Mrs. Kaiser 
had to appear as my mother, and I still had to go under 
the latter's care wherever I might be invited. Moreover, 
I was too young to come out j^et, and these dancing lessons 
were only a preparation for a later introduction into the 
social world, for one of the essential things in Austrian 
high society is that all its members must be perfect 
dancers. This was one of the few things in which I may 
boast that I was perfect. I did not particularly wish to 
go to the class. However, as my mother had said that this 
was to be my last year spent in retirement, I was indiffer- 
ent as to whether I continued for a short time more under 
the guardianship of Mrs. Kaiser, which had already con- 
tinued so long. I was eagerly looking forward to the 
time when I could rejoin my mother, and that was all I 
cared about. I felt that I was better when near her, less 
passionate and quick-tempered, and more accustomed to 
do my best to be dignified. As I grew older I felt the 
uncongeniality of the sphere in which I was moving. 
However, the society at these dancing-lessons was very ex- 
clusive, according to the general opinion, even to the point 
of being stiff and uninteresting. 

The first lesson was a sort of introductory dance, at 
which others were present in addition to those actually 
joining the class. 

I had not seen Ferdinand Fellner for months, although 
I spent some of my spare moments in dreaming of him and 
storing up his memory more and more in my inmost heart. 
Never, after the interview with my mother, had his name 

210 



been mentioned by myself, nor by anyone else in my pres- 
ence. It might easily have been imagined that in the 
lapse of time I had forgotten him. 

I had taken Elsa partly into my confidence with regard 
to my love-affair, telling her that Mr. Kaiser thought Fell- 
ner not serious enough to marry me, and had refused his 
consent on account both of this and of my extreme youth. 
Elsa was by nature rather discreet and uncommunicative, 
and, although she could not but know that my life was one 
out of the ordinary, she had never asked me about it, while 
I had not told her anything about it. Frau von Friese 
had expressly warned Mrs. Kaiser that Fellner must not 
be present at these lessons, and that, if he were, she must 
be informed, so that I might absent myself on those occa- 
sions. I guessed from what Elsa said that this was Frau 
von Friese's order. For my governess personally con- 
ducted herself in my presence as if she had entirely forgot- 
ten the affair. 

How it happened I do not know. There was a misun- 
derstanding somehow. Nothing could have been more 
unexpected by me when, shortly after I had entered the 
ballroom, I heard a familiar voice behind me saying, 
" Good evening! What a surprise it is to meet you here ! " 

I was so troubled that I could not speak, and the hand 
I gave him trembled. He also seemed troubled, and for 
a moment looked quite pale and embarrassed. To hide 
his agitation and tide us both through this awkward situa- 
tion, he forced himself to assume his usual mood and said 
gaily, "How wonderfully you have changed! How 
many hearts are you going to break to-night? " 

All my resolutions melted in a moment. I simply could 
not resist, and so I danced too much with him that even- 
ing. During the first hour I tried hard to control myself 
a little; but after that I abandoned myself to the enjoy- 
ment of those few hours. I justified my conduct to my- 
self by saying that I was not harming anyone ; that it was 
my last farewell, and, above all, that I should feel hap- 
pier with this memory in my heart. 

Mrs. Kaiser was sitting with a number of other ladies 

211 



and paid little attention to me. In fact, she did not no- 
tice Ferdinand Fellner until some time after our meet- 
ing, and I managed not to let her see me with him. I was 
engaged for supper with someone else, but I ventured so 
far as to tell Fellner to sit at my right side and not to en- 
gage himself to another partner. Supper was served at 
little tables in different rooms, and here again I man- 
aged to escape Mrs. Kaiser's eyes. 

He seemed more serious this evening than usual, while 
I, on the contrary, was more lively than was my wont. 
My partner at supper, finding that I paid very little at- 
tention to him, conversed altogether with his neighbour 
on the other side, so that I had leisure to talk to Fellner. 
The latter was so noticeably quiet that at last, near the 
end of supper, I asked, " What has happened to you? I 
do not seem to recognise you any more." 

He paused, and then said slowly, " In the first place, I 
am preoccupied about my final examination; and 
then . . ." He paused, and looked at me. As I did not 
say anything, however, he went on: " Can't you imagine? 
Don't you know what is on my mind? " 

I continued silent. I could not collect the thoughts as 
they rushed through my head. I only felt of a sudden in- 
expressibly sad. 

' You do not care to reply. But I, who have so rarely 
an opportunity of talking to you, shall not waste it this 
time. I know your people think me dissipated and un- 
trustworthy. I called three or four times at your home, 
only to be told each time that you were not in. I under- 
stood from this that I was no longer welcome there, and 
so I remained away. I was not sure whether you would be 
here; but as I heard that her Excellency Frau'von Thyr 
was to be one of the patronesses, I hoped you might be 
present, and therefore accepted the Baroness von Busch- 
mann's invitation. Otherwise I should not have come, as 
my time is quite absorbed by my work. But now I have 
at last found an opportunity of speaking to you, and I 
shall make use of it." 

I still sat staring at him, unable to find a word to utter ; 

212 



and he continued. Was I displeased with him, he asked, 
for speaking like this? Could I not guess that he had 
been striving for months and months to conquer himself? 
He grew more impassioned still as I remained speechless. 
At least I should tell him that I knew of his love for me, 
and that I would accept it. He had worked so hard at 
his examinations, to prove himself worthy of me. After 
his final he would be a qualified architect, and his father 
would take him into his business. The firm had a world- 
wide reputation, and he could say without conceit that no 
girl could have a reason for refusing him. 

Then he seemed to lose his head. Did my father prefer 
some idler from one of the embassies, he demanded — 
some man of title ? He, too, could be a baron. His father 
had already refused the honour, but could have it still, 
if that were what I wanted. " Can't you understand how 
tortured I am? " he concluded. " As soon as I am through 
my final I shall go straight to your father. I must have 
you!" 

Suddenly the veil fell from before my eyes, and I was. 
as if awakened from a dream. I must stop him, must not 
leave him in uncertainty any longer. Painfully forcing 
back the tears, I said, " Ferry, even if I can understand 
what you say, perhaps I am not allowed to understand 
you." 

I spoke as gently as I could. I wished at one and the 
same time to comfort him and to destroy for ever all his 
hopes. But he altogether misinterpreted me, as I saw at 
once._ 

" Oh, you are an old-fashioned girl," he answered with 
a laugh. " It can easily be seen that you have always been 
kept as if in a convent. You are afraid of papa's strong 
will. Perhaps he has already disposed of your hand. Let 
me see what I can do. I will soon make him give his con- 
sent." 

I was just on the point of saying " For goodness' sake 
don't act too hastily," when everyone began to rise from 
the table. My partner, with a low bow and many apolo- 
gies for being compelled to disturb me, offered me his 

213 



arm. Behind me Fellner laughed, saying in a joyful 
voice, " Arrivederci! Later on! " 

But I had no opportunity to speak to him again. Mrs. 
Kaiser had at last noticed that he was seeking me out, and 
every time he tried to approach me either Laura or Elsa 
was immediately at my side, so that at last I was compelled 
to go home, with my heart full of anguish and almost in 
despair. One moment I wished to whisper to him that I 
would try to meet him somewhere, but immediately my 
conscience disapproved of an action which at that time 
seemed to me dreadful — apart from its being impossible. 

With all this my passion had blazed up stronger than 
ever. How masterfully he had spoken! He was quite 
changed since last summer. He had suddenly become a 
man. But then again the thought forced itself upon me 
on what a desperate and hopeless struggle I was embark- 
ing. My anguish at the idea of his going to speak to my 
guardian was indescribable. More than ever I longed for 
my mother's presence. I should have thrown myself at 
her feet, imploring her to give her consent to this union. 
It seemed to me that it was destiny which had caused me to 
be brought up away from the Court, whereby it had been 
possible to meet him. 

But, alas! mother was far away, and I was alone with 
my torturing thoughts. I had the most intense need of 
someone in whom to confide. But who was there? And 
now I committed a great error, for I deceived the one per- 
son above all in whom I should have had confidence, Frau 
von Friese. Instead of going at once to her, I trembled 
at the very thought of doing so. Her first impulse, I felt, 
would be one of indignation, and afterwards she would 
lead me into the right way. But I had no desire for the 
right way then. Frau von Friese would have induced me 
to abandon my fantastic ideas at once, while I on the con- 
trary wanted to find someone who would indulge my pas- 
sion. Still, the great reason for my refusing to speak to 
her was, as I have said, fear. I knew how implacably 
severe she could be, and this time she would have been 
quite pitiless. 

214 



Finally I took a step which should have been the very 
last to be dreamt of. I placed myself in the hands of Mrs. 
Kaiser, hoping that she, who knew the whole affair from 
the beginning, would help me. At first she seemed rather 
alarmed. The next moment she laughed over this 
" folly " of mine, as she called it. Yet it did not escape 
me that her manner of speech was rather forced, and I 
was not at all favourably impressed when she concluded : 

" Well, I think that was carrying a joke rather too far. 
You will see that the young man will not reappear. 
There is only one way to make sure. Let us wait until 
his examinations are over." 

And so I waited patiently. Naively I failed to realise 
that through my confession to Mrs. Kaiser I had given her 
just the opportunity which enabled her surreptitiously and 
without great difficulty to bring the whole affair to an 
end. 

When the date of Ferdinand Fellner's examination was 
past my uneasiness began to grow again. Had Mrs. 
Kaiser been right? Was all that he had said a jest? If 
that were so I never could endure such an outrage quietly. 
I was speculating vainly what was to be done when, quite 
unexpectedly, I saw in a newspaper that his mother had 
died suddenly. Of course, I immediately found an excuse 
for him and waited patiently again. But, though I had 
heard nothing from him since our last meeting, I could not 
consider myself free. I should be obliged to attend the 
dancing class while he was in deep mourning. I could 
not do that. But what excuse was I to find? This was 
my plan for the first week. I rubbed the skin off the 
ankle of my right foot with the heel of the left, and so 
made what looked like a serious enough wound to prevent 
me from going out. I thought that before this could have 
time to heal I should hear from him. But no news came. 

My next step was certainly most audacious and impru- 
dent. I must have parted with my reason to ignore com- 
pletely my mother's strict orders and overlook the grief I 
should cause her. I wrote to Ferdinand Fellner. In my 
letter I asked him not to be surprised and hurt if its con- 

215 



tents seemed to him rather frivolous. It was intended as 
an apology if If I should again attend the dancing class. 
As I had heard nothing from him since our last meeting, 
I was no longer able to stay away without exciting the 
suspicions of my friends. Besides I did not really know 
whether I was called upon to do so. I begged him to write 
back to me. 

As the answer must come to my guardians' address, to 
prevent its being intercepted before reaching me I bribed 
one of the kitchen-maids to be on the lookout for it. A 
few days later, after I had suffered tortures, the girl 
handed me a black-bordered envelope. The letter's brief 
contents were as follows: 

" Dear Msis Lily, 

" After the sad event which has just happened, I do 
not feel at present in the mood to talk about anything like 
the subject of our last conversation, and therefore beg you 
to consider it unspoken." 

Now I knew. But how dreadful was that knowledge! 
It was my first stunning blow. With it departed my 
childhood and the confidence which I had hitherto had in 
everyone. I lost that innocent pleasure in life which had 
been mine. I had been heartlessly deceived ; or at least I 
thought so, for of course, at the time, I blamed him for all 
and never imagined that there had been any outside inter- 
ference. 

In later years, when I learned that Mr. Kaiser had 
given Ferdinand Fellner to understand the impossibility 
of his plans concerning me and had advised him to with- 
draw, I changed my ideas a great deal. But nothing 
could give me back my lost }^outh. I never saw him again. 
He, too, I afterwards heard, was in despair at the unhappy 
ending of the affair. He abandoned himself to a wild 
and ruinous life, which made him ill for years, and finally 
caused his premature death. 

Only after I received the unwelcome intelligence con- 
tained in Fellner's short letter did it occur to me in what a 
disgraceful manner I had behaved towards my mother. 

216 



My sole consolation, and it was a faint one, at this unhappy 
moment, was that at least I was able to save her from a 
worse grief I might have caused her. As I recovered from 
the blow I could readily understand how much greater the 
misfortune would have been had his answer been favour- 
able to my wishes. Now I could see how utterly impos- 
sible it would have been for me to plead with my poor 
mother for her consent. 

I had scarcely had time to think much about this, how- 
ever, when, like a flash of lightning across the sky, came 
the following telegram from mother to Frau von Friese : 

" Bring Caroline at once." 

Brief as was the message, I could read in it that mother 
did not send it just now by chance alone, and I was afraid 
to meet her. Yet, in spite of my fear, I longed for her 
as the only comfort I had, the only person who could give 
be peace again. I think I shall never forget this inter- 
view if I live to be a hundred years old. 

Mother was sitting alone in the drawing-room of our 
apartments in the hotel where Frau von Friese and my- 
self were staying at San Remo. This time I did not stay 
in the same hotel as mother. 

She was even paler than usual, and her features wore a 
hard, marble-like expression such as I had never seen be- 
fore on her dear face. At the sight of her I trembled 
from head to foot. Usually we hurried into each other's 
arms; but this time she remained motionless. Suddenly 
she seemed to lose patience, and then she said in a voice 
that was almost harsh : 

" Do you dare to come again before my eyes? " 

This beginning was totally unexpected. I felt my tears 
choke me. 

' You have deceived me and lied to me. I suppose you 
come now to do the same again." 

This too was said severely, though her voice had some- 
what softened, with less anger and more reproach in it. 
I remained silent. I had already feared that she might 
have heard something of what I had done, but I had con- 
tinued to hope that I was mistaken. Her manner of 

217 



greeting me, therefore, came like a bolt from the blue. 
My fault must have been depicted to her as much worse 
than it really was. 

Misinterpreting my silence as obstinacy, and irritated 
at the absolute quiet which reigned, she grew angrier 
again ; but this time it was a deadly quiet anger, for she 
spoke now in an almost icy voice. " Madame the Arch- 
duchess (Frau Erzherzogin) does not seem to have heard 
that I have spoken to her," she said. 

For the first and only time in my life she addressed me 
by this title, as though wishing to remind me of what I 
seemed to have forgotten. I really did not know what I 
could say, but I felt that I must give some sort of an an- 
swer if only to show my willingness to speak. With a 
superhuman effort I forced out the words, " I have heard, 
mother." 

Then suddenly something seemed to restore to me my 
strength, and determinedly keeping back my tears, I ex- 
claimed loudly: " I never lied to you, mother, and it is 
because I do not wish to do so to-day that I have taken so 
long to make my reply." All my pride had returned to 
me, and I continued: " When I gave you my promise 
in the Tyrol last summer, I intended to be faithful to my 
word. Circumstances turned my head, but, even in the 
moment of my greatest passion, I never thought to keep a 
word of all this secret from you. I thought of rebellion, 
perhaps, but, never of deceit." 

And now I told her of all I had suffered; how lonely I 
had felt, especially since she had seemed to prefer Aunt 
Mathilde's company to mine; and how, really, it had been 
more my pride than anything else that had induced me 
to write to the young man. With this I took out the 
black-bordered envelope and gave it to her. 

She did not know of the letter's existence until now, and 
this at last convinced her that I had intended to speak to 
her. It was the final necessary proof that I had meant to 
be true to her. She was deeply moved and pulled me 
toward her. Then, holding me motionless in her arms, she 
looked at me with those sad eyes of hers, in which the tears 

218 



had come, and whispered: " My poor, lonely girl! " 

Her expression as she spoke I can never forget; and 
even now when I am feeling most miserable, I am restored 
by thinking of those words: " My poor, lonely girl! " 

After we had sat together like this for a short time, she 
began to speak again: 

" We have to give up many things in this life, child, 
which seem to us sacred. You have early to learn to bow 
to this rule. Perhaps there will some time come a day 
when people will tell of a princess who had to renounce 
what was sacred to her for the sake of the people." 

" But how could it be I, darling mother? " I whispered 
in reply. " What have my sufferings to do with the peo- 
ple? It would be a great consolation to me if it were so! 
But what am I to them? " 

But now mother put both her hands over my eyes and 
said: 

" Once you promised me blind obedience, and I promised 
you to make you reach the goal of your ambitions." 

Hearing her words I bowed down and fervently kissed 
her hands. And with this my first dream of love was shat- 
tered for ever. 

CHAPTER XXIV 

OUR LAST DAYS TOGETHER 

I remained but twenty- four hours in San Remo and then 
returned to Vienna for a short while. I well remember in 
what a state of depression I was and how I cried all night 
while the sleeping-car bore me away from my mother 
again. 

We were not long separated this time, however, for I 
passed barely a week in Vienna and then joined her once 
more at Territet. Here she recovered to some extent 
from her nervous state, and, if she could not stand the 
strain of long walks, we were at least able to take short 
rambles in the neighbouring woods. In the evenings and 
at night we talked for hours of many things, but chiefly 
about my future. 

219 



How amusing it would be to watch the astonishment of 
all the people who knew nothing of my story, when they 
were at last enlightened ! 

" I myself will go with you to pay a visit to Frau von 
Thyr and her daughter," said my mother. " And then 
all those girls who were your companions at school — what 
will they say? But, Weiberl, you won't be conceited, will 
you, when all these people suddenly bow down before you 
and everybody turns round to stare at you in the streets? 
On the contrarjr, it must prove to you how light and 
frivolous the world is." 

And should I know my father and sisters? I asked. 

"Yes, of course," she answered; but I felt a certain 
strangeness in the tone of her voice. 

Somewhat embarrassed at this I continued: " I wonder 
how I shall get on with them." 

' Very well, I hope, dear. Anyhow, they will not 
trouble us much." 

But I was afraid of Valerie, I said. I did not know 
why, but I did not think she would like me. Mother, how- 
ever, told me it was wrong to entertain such ideas. Val- 
erie was good and kind, and would try to take me under 
her sisterly wing. Probably she might insist upon the fact 
that she was the elder sister, whom I must therefore re- 
spect. But, as I was a reasonable person, who understood 
the weak points of others, I would give in and get on very 
well with her. 

On one of the last days of our stay, mother said to me: 
' When I return to Vienna I shall have to settle all the 
matters connected with bringing you out. This year is 
the right time." 

" How will you manage to do it, mother? " I asked ex- 
citedly. 

" Very simply," she replied. " The Emperor will have 
to announce officially to Parliament that the Empress and 
he have a third daughter living, who has been educated 
away from the Court, and who will be introduced on the 
occasion of his Jubilee. It will not make any trouble 
whatever. All is in order, the papers and everything, 

220 



That is all that will be necessary." 

So the time of separations was almost past, the date of 
my recognition was almost at hand. The days dragging 
out their slow length were scarcely bearable to me in my 
increasing impatience. This time I gladly accepted the 
parting from mother. Was I not longing for news that 
my future was decided upon? 

We returned to Vienna in the first week of April, and 
I schooled myself as best I could to await the outcome of 
mother's mission. But she did not let me hear anything 
for a few days ; and then Frau von Friese received only a 
line or two, stating that she was suddenly indisposed and 
must leave almost immediately for Kissingen. She only 
came to bid me good-bye. In answer to the questioning 
look in my eyes, she said, " My poor darling, I feel so 
miserable all at once. For the moment my nerves will 
not allow me to undertake what I intended." 

I kissed her hand, and made no answer. I guessed that 
there was some quite other obstacle than the question of 
her health. But, as I wished to make her believe that I 
was confident, I kept silence. 

She remained with me only a short time, during which 
I could see how she was tortured by the thoughts which 
she wished to keep to herself. Only at the last, when she 
put her arms about me and gave me the farewell kiss, did 
she lose countenance. There was one heart-breaking sob 
from her. Neither of us said a single word more. It was 
useless. We understood without words. 

Mother remained away nearly two months, going first 
to Kissingen, and after that to Bruckenau. The weeks 
crawled by for me with the most deadly slowness. I was 
so depressed that nothing now had any interest for me. 
I tried to be reasonable and succeeded fairly well in the 
daytime ; but at night I could not get any sleep. The re- 
membrance of that long last sob of mother's remained in 
my heart. What did it mean? I knew that there must 
have been some trouble about me, but I could not imagine 
what was its nature. I indulged in all sorts of conjec- 
tures as to her meeting with the Emperor. I fancied that 

221 



he had been abrupt, perhaps had refused point-blank to do 
what mother asked. But why he should set his face 
against me I could not make out. Or had mother had to 
fight against others, with whom she was not strong enough 
to contend? It was a great enigma, unsolvable by me. 

Toward the middle of June mother returned to Vienna. 
She was slightly better, but what was wrong with her was 
mental rather than physical trouble. It was given out 
officially that she needed a complete rest, and that Profes- 
sor Nothnagel had told her that if she wished to recover 
speedily she should see as few people as possible, and not 
even her own family. The truth, of course, was that she 
was at the moment on such terms with the family that she 
declined to see any of them. 

Frau von Friese's health was not completely restored 
yet, although she was much better than before. Professor 
Nothnagel told her that she should go for a cure to 
Frazensbad, as her blood was in a poor condition. At first 
she thought of taking me with her, but this idea was dis- 
countenanced by mother, who did not wish me to be absent 
from Vienna while she was there. So Frau von Friese 
went alone to Franzensbad, while I remained at my own 
home in the Strohgasse with Fraulein Hain. 

During the month of June the Kaisers were again at 
Voslau, and I was often with them for the week-ends. 
Almost every day I met mother in a corner of her park 
at Lainz. I was brought to a side entrance by my coach- 
man, Franz Schneider, and by Pirker, who accompanied 
me to our meeting-place. There he left me and waited 
sometimes for hours until I returned. This dear old ser- 
vant was the one person besides Frau von Friese in whose 
care my mother trusted me. He was like my own shadow 
to me. Nothing could be a sweeter reward to him than to 
hear mother say one morning: " Pirker, you are my 
greatest comfort. I don't know what I should do without 
you. As long as I know you are near my daughter, I feel 
that she is safe." 

I must say here that mother was not very well pleased 
at Frau von Friese's leaving me so often alone, although 

222 



she could do nothing to prevent it, for my governess was 
with me of her own good will, and not by regular appoint- 
ment. Frau von Friese, for her part, was of the opinion 
that my mother was needlessly anxious about me, and 
never would believe that I was really in danger. More- 
over, the police commissioner who acted as her confidential 
agent had assured her that there was nothing planned 
against me at present, and that everything seemed safe. 

In spite of Professor Nothnagel's advice, mother seemed 
to have trouble about her all the time. I would almost 
have given my life that she might tell me what was going 
on ; but all I could find out was that, as I have already said, 
she was on bad terms with all the members of her family. 

On July 2nd she left for Ischl. Frau von Friese was 
to return in a week's time and to accompany me there too. 
" I hope things will get on better now," were mother's 
last words. " I think that you will be able to join me 
again toward the middle of the month." 

And now Frau von Friese had returned from Franzens- 
bad, and everything was in readiness for our departure. 
We only awaited the final order from mother. On the 
18th came the letter we were expecting, but, to our aston- 
ishment, not from Ischl, but from Munich. 

" I am on my way to Nauheim," she wrote. " Left 
Ischl quite unexpectedly. Will tell you all when we meet. 
Join me at once at Nauheim." 

More trouble, I thought to myself. And I was not mis- 
taken. This time mother concealed nothing from me. 
She told me that for many months she had been taking 
steps to effect my recognition, but that new difficulties kept 
cropping up. As long ago as the previous autumn she 
had talked matters over with the Emperor. At first he 
had been quite willing to discuss the subject. But gradu- 
ally those in his confidence had turned him against it. He 
suddenly made an objection to my broad-minded system of 
education, said he was afraid this would have a bad effect 
at Court, and so on. 

Mother did not know what to do, when she was ap- 
proached by the Jesuits through the medium of Cardinal 

223 



■Steinhuber. The Cardinal in his younger days had been 
religious instructor in the house of my grandfather, the 
Duke Max in Bavaria, and had taught the daughters. He 
was, therefore, personally acquainted with my mother. 

The Jesuits' proposal was that if they assisted mother 
with regard to me she must use her influence in support 
of certain privileges which they claimed in Hungary ; and, 
secondly, she must send me to a convent for three years. 
She could not agree to these conditions, and particularly 
not to the latter. She had a great affection for the Hun- 
garians, and would not work against their prejudices, while 
as to me it is hardly necessary to say that she never dreamt 
of yielding. Such a plan would either destroy the fruits 
of a careful education or else would entail upon me a life 
of misery, as it was too late now for the convent rule to 
influence me. 

I believe that the Cardinal personally did all he could 
to help mother. But the Jesuits would not abate their 
terms in the least. The only result was that they became 
more hostile to us. In vain mother tried to win over the 
Emperor single-handed. 

There had been violent scenes at Ischl. Mother threat- 
ened to appeal to Hungary. She suddenly left Ischl and 
went abroad, causing, as she wished, the more sensation 
because she almost invariably stopped at Ischl over the 
Emperor's birthday. 

When she told me of all this she added excitedly: 
" And Austria shall not see me again until you have been 
given your rights. They know that I adhere to what I 
say. I have given them proofs of that. They shall come 
to me! " 

And now one morning she hastened, full of j oy, to meet 
me, waving her hand to me from afar in token of triumph. 
She was happy, as I had not seen her for a long time. 

' Weiberl," she called out, when she was still a little 
distance away, " you see, they are coming to me now! I 
knew it. I had a message to-day from the Emperor. 
He wants to meet me here, or else in a few weeks' time at 
Territet, or somewhere in Switzerland, to talk matters 

224 






over with me again. He wishes to make his announce- 
ment on December 2nd, and we will fix the date when I 
am to present you to him and your sisters." 

Hearing her words, I began to tremble. I felt as if a 
great weight were pressing upon my heart. Why did I 
hesitate for some time before I could join in my mother's 
pleasure? What was it that almost made the tears come 
to my eyes? Why did I feel so sorry for mother at that 
moment? Why did I throw myself into her arms to avoid 
the necessity of speaking? I could not have explained my 
emotion at the time. But to-day I know that it was one 
of those uncanny presentiments which flash upon the soul 
and prepare it for what is to come. 

I stopped about three weeks with mother at Nauheim. 
As usual, the time was all delightful while I was near her. 
But how awful, how ghastly it is to be compelled to add 
that this was the last time that we were ever together ! It 
is beyond my powers to describe this final stay with her. 
When I try to recollect that time, so full of sunshine, my 
eyes are blinded with tears, and I cannot see what I am 
writing. 

How could anyone else realise what sufferings are mine 
again and again, whenever I think of this unconscious fare- 
well between mother and myself? It is an agoiry which 
can never be exhausted until the last day of my life. 
When the memory comes back to me, I feel like a deserted, 
lonely child, calling in vain for " mother." My whole soul 
cries out for her in whom I lost not merely the best and 
most loving of mothers, but everything in the world, every- 
thing indefinite and unmeasurable. 

In this death there lay for me such terrible misery as, I 
believe, few beings have ever had to undergo. But my 
pen is unequal to the task of picturing it. Can I convey 
my thought when I say that from the moment of her death 
I understood the custom of the ancients, who in the in- 
tensity of their grief rent their garments and tore their 
hair? I, too, have this feeling, and as the remembrance 
comes back to me I have an overmastering desire to throw 
myself upon the ground and rend everything upon me. 

225 



But I may not do s hings; and, instead, the ever- 

burning anguish must r nain pent up in my soul, invisible 
to all the world — '- in which the : is, happily for himself, 
no man who could com] to the full. 

CHAPTER XXV 

THE HAND OF FATE 

In the first half of August, 1898, I went with Frau von 
Friese to Portschach, in Karinthia, to stay with the 
Ivaisers. Mother did not wish to keep me with her at the 
moment lest she should appear to the Emperor to be act- 
ing out of mere stubbornness. Her own immediate re- 
turn to Austria would have been too abrupt, while if I 
had remained at Nauheim it would have looked like flout- 
ing the Emperor's desires. So with a heavy heart she 
let me go. 

Frau von Friese stopped at Portschach several days. 
Then, on August 23rd, she left for Denmark. She had 
originally intended to go there later on. But, as mother 
wrote that she wanted us to join her in Switzerland about 
the middle of September, she decided to go away now and 
return in good time to make preparations for our journey 
to Switzerland. Pirker and my maid remained in special 
charge of me, and with them I was to travel in a few weeks' 
time to Innsbruck to rejoin Frau von Friese. 

Mr. and Mrs. Kaiser had leased the villa No. 1 attached 
to the hotel to which they had applied for rooms, the 
" Etablissement Wahliss." We took our meals at the res- 
taurant of the establishment itself. It was the height of 
the season when I arrived at Portschach. I never had 
any great liking for the place from the first, and to-day 
its memory is detestable to me. It was at the time of 
which I am writing neither a cosy little summer resort, 
like Veldes for instance; nor an elegant spot, like Gmun- 
den in particular; nor yet a gay and luxurious watering- 
place, such as people flock to in the summer. It was noth- 
ing special, but set up to be grand. The people there 

226 



dressed themselves much with no reason for doing so. 
The amusements were forced and hollow. Everybody in 
the place knew everybody else, but they were of such dif- 
ferent social ranks that no one really was on intimate 
terms with his neighbour. The principal distraction was 
the lake, which was certainly delightful for swimming and 
boating. Then there was bicycling, which was at that 
time much in vogue. I learnt to ride there, and we used 
to spend the mornings in the water and the afternoons on 
the bicycle — a vehicle which I loathed from the moment 
I first mounted it. I loved horse-riding too much ever to 
have any sympathy for this mechanical sport. 

And now I have arrived at the most terrible and tragic 
moment of my life. My mother, my darling, adored 
mother, went from me for ever! 

It was a cool, grey day in September — that is to say, 
I cannot be certain if the weather was grey and the sky 
overcast or not ; but it is grey and gloomy in my memory. 

Nor can I say how we spent the day. My foster-father 
was in Vienna, and I was alone with his wife and daugh- 
ter. We were going home to the villa after supper. It 
was, I suppose, getting on for nine o'clock. On the way 
back we met one of the servants of the establishment, who 
cried out to us, " Have the ladies heard the dreadful 
news? " 

" No; what has happened? " we all asked. 

" The Empress has been assassinated! " 

Had he at that instant plunged a dagger into my heart, 
the agony could not have been worse than what I ex- 
perienced then. My throat felt as though someone were 
strangling me. My temples roared, and the ground 
under my feet rocked like the waves of the sea. I remem- 
bered no more until I found myself in my bedroom. 
Laura told me afterwards that with a great effort .'I 
managed to walk to the villa. I myself recall that when 
I entered my room it seemed to me dimly lighted ; and then 
I lost consciousness. Oh, why had I to wake again — 
to wake with an awful awakening, which has ever since 

227 



that moment been like a ghastly nightmare to me? 

So all was over. This was the last act of my happy, 
sunny youth. My mother had gone from me for ever. 
My darling one, farewell! 

It requires an almost superhuman effort to describe this 
period of my life. To do so I have to re-live every min- 
ute of it, and that is a martyrdom which no one can realise. 

Only after several hours did I recover from my swoon ; 
that is to say, I opened my eyes, but I was unable to move. 
My head was burning as with red-hot irons. The doctor 
was fetched, and bags of ice were applied. After this I 
must have fallen asleep. It was the next morning that 
the real awakening came. I remember I unclosed my 
eyes and found myself alone. The dreadful truth flashed 
upon my mind again. My darling mother had gone from 
me for ever. Not knowing what I did, I screamed out 
"Mother!" Then, breaking into pitiful sobs, I buried 
my face in my pillows. 

Laura, who was in the adjoining room, heard my cry 
and hurried to my bedside. She was very kind, and 
threw her arms about me, and I, without the strength to 
resist, let her do as she wished. 

Everyone in the place tried to comfort me and to bring 
a little calm to me. But their words almost drove me 
mad, and in order to rid myself of them I would not 
answer at all, and remained motionless in the bed. In 
fact, I felt quite unable to weep in any person's presence. 
It seemed to me like a profanation to share my grief with 
anyone else. This obstinate silence on my part had at 
last the effect of making those about me fear for my 
reason. Dr. Fischer, who was attending me, ordered 
them to let me stay in bed some little time, as he was 
afraid of brain fever. So I remained thus for several 
days, almost without moving. 

One morning, however, they brought me a letter from 
Frau von Friese, after having debated for a time whether 
they ought to give it to me or not. They had finally de- 
cided to do so, in the hope that it might have a good effect 
and also help to put life into me. 

228 



" My poor, dear child," Frau von Friese wrote. " A 
dreadful misfortune has befallen you, my poor child. But 
you must know that, at this moment of the utmost anguish 
and suffering, you will show the most respect for the 
memory of your dear dead mother if you exhibit courage, 
patience, and dignity in bearing the heaviest blow that 
Fate could possibly deal you. Remember always what 
she used to expect of you. Remember that you are her 
daughter, and that you must show yourself worthy of 
her. Remember, too, the nobility with which she bore all 
her sorrows, and remembering this it will be easier for you 
also to bear up against all the miseries of this life. 

" How dreadful it is for me to be prevented, even for a 
short time, from coming to you, it is unnecessary for me 
to say. But it will not be long now, only a few days more, 
my poor child, before I shall be able to hold you once 
again in my arms. I am the only person (may I say?) 
who can be to you a little of that one who has been torn 
away from you so cruelly. Great changes may soon come 
to you; but in all circumstances of life you will remember 
where you can find the heart that bears for you the most 
motherly love in this lonely world. 

" Courage, my brave girl! Think of the one who now 
looks down from heaven upon you, and who is so much 
happier than we." 

Until the time when I read this letter I had not even 
made an effort to take in ideas. A terrible gloom had 
reigned over me, robbing me of all my strength. Now, 
for the first time since my blow, I had another feeling than 
that of anguish alone. Unconsciously I had been wait- 
ing for Frau von Friese, and I was disappointed that she 
had not come. But in spite of this her kind words aroused 
me a little. I could not read between the lines, or else I 
should have known that what she was saying to me was in 
reality her own eternal farewell. 

For a moment I could see quite vividly the dear sad 
eyes of my mother, and she was saying again to me that 
which she had so often said to me before: "Babe, be 

229 



reasonable." 

At this remembrance, for the last time I burst into 
tears. But as soon as that was over, forcing myself to 
activity, I rose from my bed. When those about me 
wished to prevent it, I said: " Let me go into the open 
air. It will do me good." 

Then I begged Laura to row me over to the other shore 
of the lake, to Maria Worth. This is a quaint little place, 
with a very old church standing at the back, and on an ad- 
joining hill is the churchyard, overlooking the quiet blue 
lake. Several times before I had been there and had 
thought how beautiful it would be to be laid there one day 
for my last eternal rest. Now I was standing here again, 
not to be buried myself, but to bury the golden time of 
my youth. 

One never has the consciousness of one's life as a single 
and complete whole. At first one develops vigorously 
and pushes on to the height of one's physical and mental 
powers; but before ever that is reached one begins slowly 
to die. This day in the churchyard my death began. 

My struggles, however, were only just at their com- 
mencement. Above all I wished to hurry back to Vienna. 
I wanted to see Her once more, for the very last time. 
But this could not be allowed. For one thing, I had not 
the physical strength to travel to Vienna. And besides 
how could I go, like some mere stranger, to her bier ? On 
the other hand, it was impossible at that moment to make 
any special arrangements for me. The dreadful truth 
almost drove me mad. All my pride rebelled at the idea 
that I was not able at once to communicate with my rela- 
tives. 

At this time my foster-father, who had arrived in 
Portschach again a few days after the tragedy, came 
closer to my heart than any of them, and his presence did 
the most to calm me. With deep gratitude I look back 
on the memory of this old man — he was very old then, 
about seventy, and quite broken down with grief too — 
as, with the utmost earnestness he could command, he 
tried to make me reason properly. 

230 



" For the sake of your mother, my dear child, you 
must endure it. You cannot make any trouble at this 
time." 

These words of his were the wisest thing he could have 
said. Yes, for mother's sake I must endure it. 

And yet what more cruel and inhuman Calvary can be 
conceived than is conveyed in this sentence, The child 
may not weep out her grief for the loss of her mother, nor 
bid her a last farewell? 

Amid all this of which I have been telling, it could not 
remain hidden from me that my foster-parents were really 
placed in a very awkward position. At first it was given 
out that I had met with an accident, that I had taken an 
overdose of morphine, intended to relieve a cough I had. 
But, afterwards, what excuse could be found for my ex- 
traordinary grief? Why should I suddenly have become 
a hater of the world? Yet it would have been absolutely 
impossible for me to meet anybody. 

When the first week had passed by, I began to be better 
able to understand the position. The last thing I wished 
was to be the slightest burden to anyone. My soul re- 
volted at such a thought, and so I begged Laura to talk 
as much as possible to me, that I might have practice in 
learning to dissemble my feelings. With my own feet I 
wished to trample upon my heart. And little by little 
I succeeded. 

I think I must actually have gone off my head for a 
time. In the presence of strangers I had never been as 
highspirited as then; for, of course, it was impossible to 
hold the balance properly. To those about me this state 
of mind seemed a happy deliverance. Had they not been 
— how shall I express myself properly? — so inexpe- 
rienced in matters of grief, they would not have accepted 
the sacrifice. 

After all was over we went back to Vienna. Vienna! 
how terrible, how awful it was! I really did not live 
then. It was a sort of evil dream; otherwise it would 
have killed me. 

Naturally I resided with Mr. and Mrs. Kaiser, but this 

231 



in itself mattered nothing, it had happened so often be- 
fore. The household in the Strohgasse was kept on for 
a time. I had insisted upon that. Was I not waiting 
for Frau von Friese, who would then take steps with me 
for securing my recognition? No one spoke about this 
matter, nor did I speak to anyone. I preferred that none 
but she should interfere in these affairs. 

About a week after our return to Vienna I was told 
that Frau von Friese had suddenly become so ill that she 
could not come back at once. A short letter was shown 
to me from her relatives, giving the bad news and saying 
that she was not even able to write herself. What could 
I do? This was one blow upon another. My darling 
mother had gone from me for ever. Was my guardian, 
too, going for ever ? It seemed as if some dreadful fate 
held me fast in its grip. With perverse, almost fiendish 
cruelty to myself, I laughed at my misfortunes. 

The weeks went slowly dragging on. From time to 
time letters came from Denmark, saying that the physi- 
cians believed that Frau von Friese had cancer. One 
morning in December I was sitting at the piano, playing 
with the same lack of interest that I now showed in every- 
thing else. Purposely I had devoted myself to music, 
because every tone of it almost was as a new wound to my 
heart. Music was always to me the most sublime influ- 
ence that there is in the world. Every melody conveys 
its own story; and now the sadder it made me the more 
I loved it. 

As I have said, it was one morning in December. Mrs. 
Kaiser came into the room, but I paid no attention to her, 
as she often used to come and go. So she had to speak 
to me to attract my notice. 

" Lily," she began, " I have had some very sad news, 
especially for you." 

I stopped playing, and looked at her. It was needless 
for her to say any more. I knew she was bringing me 
intelligence of Frau von Friese's death. But as I re- 
mained silent she continued: " Poor Frau von Friese is 
dead." 

232 



It may seem incredible, but I said nothing. I only 
stared at Mrs. Kaiser for a moment and then, as if noth- 
ing had happened, I went on playing. 

Mrs. Kaiser had expected a violent outburst. She 
gazed at me in amazement. Next, thinking what she had 
so often thought before, that I had gone mad, she asked 
in a low voice : 

" Lily, did you hear me? " 

' Yes," I replied. It was all I had the energy to say; 
but I continued at the piano. Shaking her head, she left 
the room. For a few minutes I played on convulsively, 
and onry when I knew that I was alone again did my 
hands drop slowly from the instrument to my knees. 

I had lost the last thing that was dear to me on this 
earth. 

As when at night, on some lonely road, the last light 
suddenly goes out and plunges the belated wanderer in 
profound darkness, so it was with me now. 

My poor beloved Aya, not one tear did I shed for you. 
My tears were exhausted; I could cry no more. 

CHAPTER XXVI 

ALONE IN THE WOKLD 

After the shock of the news of my dear Frau von Friese's 
death, I seemed suddenly to enter upon a totally new 
life. So long as my two loved ones lived I had no right 
to dispose of my future ; but now it was different. I had 
no right to stand still. I had but existed until now, hence- 
forward I must act. 

So finally one day, as I was sitting with Mrs. Kaiser 
in her room, I said to her, " I really think that it is time 
for me to do something." 

' What do you mean by doing something? " she in- 
quired. 

'What do I mean? Why, to get in touch with my 
relatives, to remind them that I am in the world." 

" But why this hurry? " asked Mrs. Kaiser. " Is there 

233 



anything more you want here? Have you anything to 
complain of ? " 

" I am not complaining," I answered, somewhat an- 
noyed, " but I do not think anything you can do is suf- 
ficient to compensate me for the loss of what I am expect- 
ing." 

" You are a fool! " cried Mrs. Kaiser, all of a sudden 
growing angry. " Go, then, and make a scandal. They 
will soon know how to shut your mouth. They will put 
you into an asylum or a convent. Please leave me alone, 
and don't bother me with your complaints." 

Though inwardly I rebelled at her tone, I kept silence; 
for I knew that when she lost her temper it was useless 
to argue with her. But that did not prevent me from tak- 
ing advantage of the first opportunity to reopen the sub- 
ject. This time Mrs. Kaiser seemed better prepared. 
She maintained her calm, and said that she had spoken 
about the matter to her husband, and that they were both 
of the opinion that, so long as my relatives took no steps, 
it would be dangerous for me to do so on my part. Then 
she asked, quite gently, " Don't we do all we can to 
make you happy? " 

When she spoke like this, my mood grew softer, and I 
began really to think myself ungrateful. I recognised 
that the Kaisers did their best for me, and were exceed- 
ingly kind. In fact, they made little difference between 
Laura and myself. An outsider might merely have sup- 
posed that Laura was rather the favourite of two sisters. 
This means much, for it showed at any rate that they 
treated me as a daughter whom they loved. 

At first, then, Mrs. Kaiser's attitude impressed me. 
Yet, after a short period of reflection, the old longing 
came back upon me, and I went again for the third time 
to speak to her on the subject. 

" So you won't leave me in peace? " she exclaimed. " I 
must explain matters more clearly, it seems." And now, 
though perhaps unintentionally, she struck the death- 
blow to all my hopes. 

" I will tell you the truth bluntly," she continued. 

234> 



" You are old enough to understand now, and perhaps 
I shall have some peace when you have heard what I have 
to say." 

M} r heart beat faster and faster, and I felt my head 
beginning to swim. I knew that she was going to tell 
me something dreadful. I have said before that she was 
a woman who took no pains to soften her words. 

" You know very well," she now said abruptly, " that 
your mother and the Emperor never agreed. Is it any 
wonder, then, that they went separate ways, and as far 
as possible sought consolation elsewhere? " 

At these words of hers I started as if bitten by a snake. 
But immediately she overwhelmed me with her speech. 

" Now, don't try to play any comedy upon me. What 
is the use of mincing matters? We are by ourselves. I 
should never speak like this in the presence of others. 
But I must make you understand now that you must keep 
quiet for your mother's sake, if you don't want the story 
to be in everybody's mouth." 

And hereupon she laughed, as though to throw me some 
grains of comfort by giving an air of frivolity to the whole 
affair. 

But I was unable to bear any more, and rushed out of 
the room, feeling that I could dash my head against the 
first wall. Oh, it was intolerable! Running to my own 
room, I locked the door to prevent anyone from intruding 
upon my grief. I threw myself on the bed, where so 
often before I had lain gazing into space. For hours I 
lay there now, trying to unravel the confused tangle of 
my thoughts. My head was aching and burning fu- 
riously, my breast was heaving in a suffocation of dry sobs. 
And then at last, after so many months, the tears began 
to roll down my cheeks again; at first slowly, then in 
floods. Taking from under my pillow the pictures of my 
two dear ones, I whispered to them: 

mother, and I endeavoured, as far as possible, not to hear 
it all!" 

From this day onward no one ever heard me speak 

235 



of them again. They were my two patron saints, to 
whom I addressed my prayers, to whom I unburdened my 
whole heart. Yes, my saints — for suddenly I realised 
that they had both lost their lives for my sake, that my 
presentiment had been justified, that a trap had been laid 
for them, a trap into which they both had fallen ; that the 
Anarchist who had killed my mother had only been a tool 
in the hands of more skilful murderers, 1 and that my Aya 
had also to disappear because she was a second mother to 
me. 

Nobody, I resolved, should ever have the chance to 
speak to me of them until I could justify them. I for- 
bade the members of the household to speak to me of my 
mother, and lendeavoured, as far as possible, not to hear 
the banal remarks which strangers made about the late 
Empress. 

To those who did not know me it might easily seem that 
I harboured a feeling of resentment and blamed her for 
my misfortune. But it was not so. Never for a moment 
did I find the slightest stain in her. Yet, young and in- 
experienced as I was, I knew enough of the meanness and 
wickedness of mankind, and I knew that at this time I 
was too weak to fight; that if I wished to fight I had to 
live, and if I wished to live I had to be dumb until the 
hour of my deliverance had come. 

I had almost forgotten to mention an old friend of mine 

— poor dear old Pirker. 

After all was over, I had finally to consent to break up 
my home in the Strohgasse. Pirker until then had 

i A curious fact in connection with Luccheni, my mother's assassin, de- 
serves mention. In the year 1910 a commissioner from the United States, 
making a tour of prisons in Europe, paid a visit to Luccheni at Geneva and 
found him in a pleasant room overlooking the lake, passing his life in an 
agreeable manner, working at his prison-trade of bookbinding no more than 
he desired, and allowed a pint of wine and plenty of cigarettes every day. 
His room was furnished with a number of pictures, including those of the 
Emperor and Empress of Austria! In consequence of the commissioner's 
visit, all this became publicly known. A few weeks later — in October, 1910 

— it was officially reported that Luccheni had gone totally insane, and had 
hanged himself in Ins cell. But there were many who believed that he had 
been secretly released. 

236 



watched over it. Can it be realised what this meant to 
the old man, this destruction of all his golden hopes, one 
after another, this entire disappearance of a home where 
every little object, every little corner, was a cherished 
remembrance? And what of the manner in which the 
break-up of the establishment was carried out — the lack 
of respect for the dead to whom it really belonged; the 
lack of pity for the child whose rightful home it was ; and, 
last but not least, the lack of consideration for the faith- 
ful servant whose heart was almost broken? 

One day in January, 1899, a maid who had shortly be- 
fore entered Mrs. Kaiser's service called me into the draw- 
ing-room. An old gentleman wished to speak to me, she 
said. I entered the room apprehensively. Who could 
it be? 

Pirker! He had finished his task, and had come, so to 
speak, to receive his dismissal from me personally. 

Poor old man! He could not utter a word. He, who 
all his life long had understood so well how to banish 
every expression of emotion from his sphinx-like features, 
now lost all control over himself. 

I can picture him still standing there in front of me, 
both his hands encased in brown kid gloves, helplessly 
holding on to his hat and fingering the brim, while he 
desperately fought with himself to avoid taking out his 
handkerchief. But he fought in vain ; for at last the tears 
were not to be kept back any more and came rolling down 
his poor old withered cheeks. 

As for me, what recollections the poor old man was 
awaking in me! I could imagine, for a moment, that I 
was awaiting with him her return from a long journey, 
when he always had a cheerful greeting from her. But 
this time she was not coming back, and as I awoke to a 
realisation of this fact my eyes too ran over with tears 
So we both cried together like two wretched shipwrecked 
beings — as we really were. 

Then the old man, looking about him as if the very 
walls had ears and eyes, took out of his pocket a little 
book. 

237 



" A prayer-book," he stammered; " a little remem- 
brance from a faithful servant," and, lowering his voice 
still more: " You must hide it at once carefully. Trust 
nobody. Some valuable documents are hidden in it." 

Almost kneeling, he caught my hand and pressed upon 
it a fervent kiss before he whispered: 

"Farewell, Imperial Highness, farewell!" 

Dragging his feet slowly one after the other, he left 
me. I stood gazing after him for a time. He, too, had 
gone away from me ; and I felt that soon this faithful old 
friend would be out of my life for ever. 

EPILOGUE 

The chief interest of this book for the reader perhaps 
ceased when the story reached the point of my mother's 
death. I do not, therefore, propose to prolong the de- 
tailed account of my life beyond that terrible period, and 
for the completion of my story shall content myself 
simply with telling briefly what happened to me there- 
after. But it seems to me that I am bound to narrate the 
principal events which happened to me between that time 
and the present day, in order to explain why I have waited I 
so long as sixteen years before revealing my secret. 

As I have said in the last chapter, after Mrs. Kaiser's 
awful revelation of how the world looks on such situations, 
my courage gave place to the deepest despair. Dearly as 
it cost me, I forced myself to hold my peace. I had been 
placed, with diabolical skill, in a position from which 
escape was impossible. 

How could I — the child loved beyond belief by a 
mother as good as she was noble — how could I speak out 
and proclaim to the world the truth which was choking 
me, when the world, in its pitiless malice, would soil with 
the worst suspicions the story that I had to tell of a life 
of inconceivable tenderness and self-sacrifice, built upon 
the ruins of a shattered youth? No, I must necessarily 
bow to the law of silence which had been imposed upon 
me, and bury my secret in the depths of my soul, perhaps 

238 



to the very day of my death. I must not breathe a word, 
my mouth being closed by respect for the memory of my 
dear dead one, who had been followed to the grave by the 
veneration of the whole world. For me it was necessary 
to forget who I truly was, to renounce my own individu- 
ality as it were, to sacrifice myself entirely, without bit- 
terness and without regret. At the thought that it was 
for her that I was abandoning all my hopes, I felt myself 
rewarded by the sensation of a new and closer approach 
to her. 

As I did not deign to confide my resolutions to those 
about me, the new direction of my ideas remained un- 
known. Very little attention was paid to me apparently, 
and to outward seeming I was left quite free; but in 
reality I was a prisoner under the strictest control. I 
never went out alone. There was nothing unnatural 
about this, of course, for a young girl in the society in 
which I lived. But also I was prevented from speaking 
to anyone, whoever it might be, without being under close 
observation. Mr. Kaiser, or else his wife, opened all my 
letters before passing them on to me. I did not have 
a single drawer which I could lock up and keep to my- 
self. Wherever I went, the Police-commissioner Windt 
haunted "me. Just at first I attached very little impor- 
tance to his presence; but when I found out that he was 
everywhere on my tracks, and that he followed me even 
on a journey, I was forced to realise the significance of 
this perpetual shadowing, and I knew that I was less for- 
gotten in high places than I had supposed. 

Although this perpetual supervision was in many ways 
very irksome to me, it failed to provoke me to rebellion. 
On the contrary, I was absolutely resigned to remain in 
the eyes of the world a Miss Kaiser. This captivity of 
mine was to me only a continuation of my existence of 
old. I found in it, as it were, a consoling proof of the 
bond which could not be broken between my past and my 
present life. And, besides, there is nothing in the way 
of misfortunes which cannot be borne by those who have 
firmly resolved to be patient. Had I not been through 

239 



all my childhood kneeling in contemplation of the most 
noble example of patience which the world had ever seen? 

So two long years passed, outwardly full of calm, in- 
terrupted only by the foolish distractions of the life of 
Society. At rare intervals I abandoned myself to a pro- 
found melancholy, especially on the morrow of some big 
social function, when it was borne in on me with bitter- 
ness how day by day I travelled farther from the happy 
time when I had a mother of my own, and how now I 
became day by day more completely the daughter of Mr. 
and Mrs. Kaiser. No one can imagine what a terrible 
struggle I had then to prevent my own personality com- 
ing to the surface. 

" I must, I must," I would say to myself; and it was 
with a never failing determination that I strove to punish 
myself for my weakness by forcing myself harder than 
ever to keep up the fiction which was so hateful to me. 
My efforts, however, received not the slightest encourage- 
ment from those with whom I lived. 

Mr. Kaiser was growing very old. He was beginning 
to be wearied out by the perpetual efforts which he had to 
make to keep his wife within the bounds of simplicity and 
economy, upon which he had always insisted. As a mat- 
ter of fact, up to now there had been a certain strictness 
about the household of Mr. Kaiser. He demanded that 
we should dress ourselves very simply. Our distrac- 
tions were kept within rigid limits. But as Laura 
grew towards womanhood she got more and more influ- 
ence over her mother, and through her over Mr. Kaiser 
also. The appearance of their drawing-room gradually 
altered. Everjr fortnight there was a big party. Young 
people, of the idle class whose members are found in all 
the drawing-rooms of Society, came in numbers to their 
house. There would be about forty people at a time. It 
did not take me long to know them, and the knowledge 
engendered a profound dislike for their company. From 
this time onwards there grew up a discord of a lasting 
kind between Laura and myself. She, quite unlike me, 
took great delight in this society. While I sought rather 

240 



the friendship of quiet and serious girls, Laura was car- 
ried away by her sympathy with those who loved to plunge 
wildly into the social whirl. It seemed to me that our 
good name might suffer through such companions, and 
this was a matter to which I was not indifferent. We 
squabbled continually on this point. 

Mr. Kaiser died suddenly on May 30th, 1901. He was 
found that morning in his bed, apparently still asleep; 
but they could not wake him, and, in fact, he had ceased 
to breathe. 

This was a more serious loss for me than I was able to 
conceive at first. If he had not tried — or, I should 
rather say, if he had not been able — to do anything on 
behalf of my claims, at least he had been a real protector 
to me against the daily perils of life. His death, there- 
fore, was bound to bring about considerable changes in 
the conditions of my existence. Mrs. Kaiser and her 
daughter were not slow to change their attitude toward 
me. In spite of all my efforts to conform myself to their 
constantly changing conduct, I clearly felt that my pres- 
ence in their circle had the effect of a killjoy, and that 
decidedly I was a nuisance to them. 

I had already foreseen how Laura's reputation would 
be affected, and constantly asked myself how I should 
act in defence of my own. For sooner or later, passing 
as I did for Laura's sister, and seen in her company all 
the time, I could not escape being involved in the unfa- 
vourable opinion which she must arouse against herself in 
the end. 

I could not think of getting permission to go on some 
trip with a lady to accompany me, nor even of going 
away to some finishing-school. There was no way out of 
this false situation for me except marriage. But since 
my affair with Ferdinand Fellner I had an invincible dis- 
taste for all men. 

Besides, it seemed to me impossible after this to fall 
in love again; this feeling disposed of the only possible 
solution. And then the majority of the young men who 
paid any attention to me inspired me with no esteem. One 

241 



among them, however, managed to arouse in me any in- 
terest. This was the son of the Court Councillor Kiih- 
nelt, Richard Kiihnelt, Doctor of Laws, who was at this 
period a lieutenant in the cavalry. He was a well-edu- 
cated young man, and seemed to be of a thoroughly seri- 
ous character. He had lost his father the same summer 
that I lost my mother, and the blow seemed also one which 
he could not get over. His state of mind, so like my own, 
made him very sympathetic to me — although, of course, 
he did not know in the slightest that I was mourning a 
beloved mother, and thought me really a Miss Kaiser. 

Laura felt toward him a strong aversion, which did not 
fail to commend him still more to me. Mrs. Kaiser, al- 
though she detested him, did her best to encourage our 
meetings. I was far from dreaming that he would one 
day be my husband. If Mr. Kaiser had lived but a few 
years longer, this young man would have passed through 
my life, like many others who were indifferent to me, 
without leaving a single trace behind him. But, as it was, 
hardly had Mr. Kaiser gone when Mrs. Kaiser began to 
think how she might get rid of me. What I am about 
to tell may perhaps seem extraordinary, but it is the sim- 
ple truth, the narration of which could only surprise those 
who were still ignorant of the history of my life. 
Scarcely two weeks after the death of Mr. Kaiser, some 
foolish quarrel having broken out between Laura and my- 
self, Mrs. Kaiser said to me : 

' This life is going to be simply unendurable. Things 
can't go on like this. You had better try to make some 
arrangement for your future; for you must understand 
that you can never get on with us, that you will never 
really be one of us." 

The same afternoon she took me, to my great surprise, 
to pay a visit to Mrs. Kiihnelt, the mother of Richard. 

There, without having given me the slightest warning 
of her intentions, she said to her pointblank: " I believe, 
Madame, that your son is in love with my daughter Lily. 
Would it not be a good thing to fall in with their wishes 
at once and agree to their engagement?" 

242 



I must confess that my astonishment was nothing com- 
pared with that of Mrs. Kuhnelt. 

As for the son, who was there, as if by accident, I had 
a vague notion that he was perhaps in league with Mrs. 
Kaiser, and that in any case he had been warned of her 
untimely and uncalled-for behaviour. He took hold of 
my hand and turned upon me a look which conveyed en- 
treaty quite as much as embarrassment, stammering out 
a few words which I could not understand. 

A profound feeling of pity came over me. I knew that 
his mother was a woman of very difficult character, and I 
had not the courage to oppose a scheme upon which all 
his happiness seemed to depend. I do not believe I ut- 
tered a single word during the course of this extraordinary 
visit. 

My amazement had been so great that I remained for 
long hours plunged in a curious state of mind, without 
any definite thought or any particular wish. It was not 
until the next day that I became mistress of myself again. 
And then I thought that all that had happened was no 
doubt for the best. I felt that it was perfectly useless to 
rebel against the force of circumstances. Nevertheless 
it was not without a terrible aching of my heart that I 
determined to let myself drift. In agreeing to become 
the wife of Richard Kuhnelt, must I not renounce for ever 
my hope of establishing the rights of my birth and realis- 
ing my mother's dearest wish? It was not without diffi- 
culty that I succeeded in repressing the instinctive revolt 
of my soul against this irremediable calamity. Certainly 
if my poor mother had still lived I should never have 
dreamt for an instant of uniting my lot with that of him 
who was about to become my husband. But, of course, 
he believed simply that he was marrying a Miss Kaiser, 
whose social position was equal to his own. Therefore, 
in marrying under this assumed name of Miss Kaiser, I 
was going to bury all my hopes and all my rights. This 
was the absolute end of a great ambition and of the ardent 
desire which I had always cherished of dissipating the 
heavy mystery which had surrounded my childhood. 

24.3 



I must look forward to the final sacrifice of my true 
self; for it was clear that I could not possibly reveal to 
Richard Kiihnelt, before our marriage, who I really was. 
I must hide within the depths of my heart the anguish of 
a renunciation which no one else could understand. 

A few days after my engagement Mrs. Kaiser's lawyer, 
Dr. Werner, who was also Mr. Kaiser's executor, in- 
formed me that I possessed a fortune of four million 
crowns (£160,000), which my mother had left me. Up 
to this moment I had not troubled my head at all about 
the money questions which are involved in nearly all mar- 
riages, and although I was totally ignorant of the value 
of money such a discovery could not find me indifferent. 
All my ideas were upset, life appearing less gloomy to 
me, and the future holding out fair promise. My fiance 
was very well educated, and while his talents were bound 
to be helped greatly by his father's high reputation on 
the one hand, on the other my fortune would aid him to 
make more quickly a brilliant career. He would enter 
upon diplomacy, and some day perhaps the secret of my 
origin might even be revealed. On the whole, therefore, 
my lot was not such a bad one. 

Although I was not greatly attracted to my betrothed, 
still I thought him well worthy of being loved, and this in 
itself drew me to him. I wanted to make him happy, and 
the wish, it seemed to me, should suffice to bring me hap- 
piness also. For is it not the principal object of life to 
live for someone else and not for oneself? 

Nevertheless, as time went on, I began to discover that 
Richard Kiihnelt was far from being of so easy-going a 
character as I had imagined at the beginning. I con- 
fessed to myself that I had little understood his true na- 
ture, and I was many times on the point of breaking off 
the engagement and refusing to hear any more about it. 
But how could that be done? If only Mrs. Kaiser's home 
had really been mine, I should not have hesitated for a 
moment. But it was impossible for me to stay any longer 
with her and Laura. 

I begged her not to hurry the wedding on, to wait a 

244 



little longer before deciding my future absolutely. She 
replied that she was in a hurry to have done with it, that I 
was in the way, and finally that she had resolved to go to 
spend the winter in Paris, where she would on no account 
take me with her. Her daughter encouraged her to the 
utmost of her power. Both of them treated me with such 
harshness that I was forced to recognise that the cause of 
this unkind behaviour was the weariness and exasperation 
to which they had been reduced by the constant police su- 
pervision involved by my presence with them. There is 
indeed no doubt that this perpetual trouble had finished 
by becoming a regular torture to them, and had decided 
them to try to get rid of me at all hazards, so that they 
might lead their lives for the future in peace. 

I did not feel that I could condemn them completely. 
On the contrary, I was inclined to make every possible 
excuse for them when I considered that they had never 
really suffered and were in consequence unable to realise 
my sufferings. 

The worst of all my sorrows was that I had not near 
me a single friend whose advice I might take. Only one 
vague hope remained in my heart, that my fiance, aftei 
we had been married, would alter in character. Laura's 
tiresome caprices furnished an explanation and an excuse 
for his ill-humour. They would not trouble him any more 
after our marriage, and as soon as he should have learned 
of my sorrows he might become my best adviser and a 
true friend to me. 

The date of our wedding was fixed for January 26th, 
1902. But matters did not go quite smoothly yet. In 
coming to the preliminary formalities I must furnish the 
authorities with particulars about myself. For a time 
I really thought that my marriage was impossible; and 
it even seemed to me that the secret designs of Provi- 
dence had only placed me in so false a situation in order 
to make me understand beyond all question the error 
which I was about to make. But this idea was soon ban- 
ished, for no sooner did the difficulty arise than a way was 
found of surmounting it. As a matter of fact I had not 

245 



sufficiently taken into consideration the secret supervision 
over every step I took. I had not reflected that those 
who had succeeded in appropriating the authentic docu- 
ments concerning my origin had also the power of fabri- 
cating others, without fear, to furnish me with a false 
identity. 

However, it was not very easy to manufacture on the 
spur of a moment a satisfactory certificate of baptism 
whose date went back some twenty years — to 1882, to 
be precise. But this was not too difficult for the astute 
ingenuity of my persecutors. 

Mrs. Kaiser, being a Dutch or English sectarian (I do 
not know which), was forced to decide to become a con- 
vert to Catholicism, and I, in the role of her supposed 
daughter, must be converted at the same time, so as to be 
able to marry a Catholic. Then, on the date of my con- 
version, a register of baptism could be produced to take 
the place of the papers necessary for my marriage. It 
was Mrs. Kaiser again who was entrusted with the whole 
affair, with the aid of the Rev. Josef Pfob, the head in 
Vienna of the order of St. Charles Boromeus; he was a 
person very well known in the capital and popularly cred- 
ited with being engaged in numerous intrigues. 

An indescribable scene took place. Although every 
nerve in my body throbbed with indignation, I succeeded 
at first in maintaining an appearance of calm. I refused 
pointblank to lend myself to such a farce, declaring that 
I was a Catholic already, and that I could not go through 
a pretence of conversion. It was true that I might be 
one who made little outward profession, but my soul was 
too full of genuine religion to insult thus by a sacrilegious 
imposture the worship in which I had been brought up. 
I had been baptised a Catholic on coming into the world, 
and no force should induce me to pretend a conversion 
from Protestantism to Catholicism. 

Now once more I was overwhelmed with threats of the 
convent or the madhouse. But these terrible words no 
longer frightened me. At last in my exasperation, I an- 
swered curtly that they could put me where they wished, 

246 



even in hell itself, for nowhere, I was sure, should I have 
so many miseries to suffer as were mine here. 

This outbreak let loose upon my head a tempest of sar- 
casm, and in her anger (I admit, very much provoked) 
Mrs. Kaiser forgot herself so far as to strike me. As for 
me, my persecutions had had such an effect upon me that 
I was quite willing to contemplate the convent, and even 
the lunatic asylum, as a haven of refuge. 

But they understood perfectly that they dare not dream 
for a moment of creating such a scandal just now. We 
were so well known in Vienna society that my sudden dis- 
appearance, on the eve of a wedding ceremony which 
was looked forward to as a social event, would have 
aroused a great sensation and furnish matter for never- 
ending talk, and talk, too, of a malicious kind. It was 
therefore necessary at all costs to escape from so danger- 
ous a situation. A few days after the scene which I have 
coming any repugnance. I let her take me to the priest, 
But this time he was alone, and our conversation lasted 
for more than an hour. He tried, by every possible 
means, to make me abandon my first resolution. He em- 
ployed every resource which he had, was amiability and 
kindness itself, but in vain. I remained immovable. In- 
deed, as his benevolence toward me appeared to me sin- 
cere, I confessed to him that, as far as I was concerned, 
I was delighted with all that had happened; for if I lis- 
tened only to my personal wishes, I was in no haste what- 
ever to marry. Upon these words, the old priest stopped 
short, asserting that my marriage was a question which 
could not be debated, and that the means Avould certainly 
be found of establishing the necessary evidence. Before 
taking his leave of me, he extracted from me a promise 
that I would come to see him next day in the vestry of his 
church. When the moment arrived, as I was attacked 
by scruples against keeping the appointment made so 
much against my will, Mrs. Kaiser found a way of over- 
coming any repugnance. I let her take me to the priset, 
thinking of course that such a step was one of no impor- 
tance. In spite of this, the interview was interpreted by 

247 



Josef Pfob as an actual ceremony of baptism, and conse- 
quently he obtained, unknown to me, the indispensable 
document which gave me an entirely false civil status, but 
a civil status nevertheless. It was only a few days later, 
when I saw matters rapidly advancing, that I understood 
the abominable trickery which had been employed against 
me. I refrain from any further comments upon this af- 
fair, and leave it to my readers to pass upon it the judg- 
ment which it deserved. 

In the first days of my married life I came to realise 
that I had not yet found happiness, and that my presenti- 
ments, alas! had only been too true. It was not merely 
the feeble glimmer of my last hopes which went out now, 
it was all that remained of the sentimental illusions of my 
youth that came to final and utter ruin. 

Although, in accordance with the custom on the Con- 
tinent, I had seen my betrothed but rarely alone, still I 
had imagined I could see that his mind and heart had not 
remained total strangers to me. I knew him to be silent 
and melancholy, but at least I imagined him sincere and 
loyal. 

Alas! how tremendous was the shock to my heart when 
I discovered my fatal error. On the day after the wed- 
ding I thought to perform the most sacred of duties by 
telling my husband my true story. But he stopped me at 
the very beginning and asked me, in a haughty, ironical 
tone, whether I was really so simple as to imagine that he 
was unaware of my identity, and to suppose that he had 
consented to marry a mere Miss Kaiser. He assured me 
that he was sharper than that. 

What a sentimental fool I had been! I had thought 
that in marrying me he had but followed his own inclina- 
tions. Suddenly I perceived, with great clearness, the 
true reason for my instinctive hesitation to confide my 
secret to him before marriage. 

I had been continually held back by the apprehension 
that our union might be prevented at the last moment. 
The apprehension, I have said; but should I not rather 
say, the faint hope? 

248 



And now I knew how little confidence I had in him to 
maintain a reserve that was certainly prudent, but equally 
as certainly uncalculated. This knowledge, coming late 
in the dajr, at once assumed a capital importance in my 
eyes. I saw what a mistake I had made in yielding to 
any hopes of conjugal affection. I understood how blind 
I had been, when, to excuse him, I attributed his sudden 
outbreaks of ill-humour to the ungracious welcome given 
him by Laura, my supposed sister, and interpreted his 
taciturnity as the natural outcome of the wretched life he 
led with his mother and the genuine grief which he felt 
over his father's loss. I had fancied that I appeared to 
him in the light of a young and thoughtless girl, unshad- 
owed as yet by the black wing of sorrow. How I had 
erred when I tried to persuade myself that all would be 
changed after our marriage, when he would know all, 
would be sincerely sorry for the pain he had caused me by 
his cross and disagreeable ways, and would become the 
consoler, protector, and friend of whom I had so much 
need. 

These reflections brought to me the clear conviction 
that I had only persisted in my resolve to marry him be- 
cause of my certainty, as absolute as it was groundless, 
that my revelation would bring about a radical change in 
his attitude, a complete revolution in his ideas and affec- 
tions. 

So far from being realised, my fair dreams had only 
lured me on to ruin. I had not been saved, but betrayed. 
My husband suddenly appeared in my eyes as a monster 
of egoism. What confidence could I have in him hence- 
forth? Was he not the agent of my enemies, the executor 
of the wishes of that invisible power which laboured in- 
cessantly not only to keep from me my just rights, but 
also to take away from me in this world all hope, however 
modest, of joy and happiness? 

I must admit that he did his best to conquer his sullen 
humour and was successful at first. Perhaps the satis- 
faction which his face seemed to express was sincere; for, 
after all, had he not succeeded in his designs? He told 

249 



me, indeed, that henceforward his career was assured, if 
only I renounced my schemes and so avoided all scandal. 
This confession, however, did but confirm my cruel cer- 
tainty. It was perfectly clear that my marriage had been 
cleverly planned to reduce me to impotence. The hus- 
band chosen for me was from one of those official fam- 
ilies, every generation of which is brought up systematic- 
ally on respect for the established order of things, and 
educated in an atmosphere of traditional acquiescence; a 
man ready to obey in all that was demanded of him, and 
promising by the natural feebleness of his character that 
he would say and do nothing that would give trouble; a 
man, in fact, the very reverse of the chevalier sans peur, 
who is always ready to risk his life for the weak and op- 
pressed. 

Had it not been for the dreadful gulf between my hus- 
band and myself, my existence might have been happy 
enough. I was surrounded by material luxuries and com- 
forts, and as I appeared to be ready to agree to a life of 
self-suppression things were made as easy as possible 
for me. 

A great consolation came to me when I found that I 
was about to become a mother. On November 17th, 1902, 
my son, Antony-Francis, was born. This event gave a 
new value to my life, creating a bond between my hus- 
band and myself. We sat long, side by side, watching 
the pretty pink, fair-haired baby on the white pillows of 
his cot. We made magnificent plans together for his 
happy future. 

After all, at that period I had not much of which to 
complain. I was pampered and spoilt. I had all that a 
young society woman could desire, horses, carriages, serv- 
ants, jewellery, clothes, etc. I began to entertain largely, 
and my at-homes promised to become among the most 
popular in Vienna. Not without intention, I chose my 
new acquaintances principally among the families of the 
members of Parliament belonging to the Polish party. 
Among my friends I numbered Mr. and Mrs. Bilinski, 
and, above all, Mr. and Mrs. Abrahamovicz, who were 

250 



preeminent in that party. 

The success of my entertainments was exceptional, con- 
sidering how young a woman I was. But, if I myself 
made new friends every day, the same was not true of my 
husband. He gave himself too important airs for his 
twenty-five years, and his sullen humour was taken for 
arrogance and vanity. 

So two years passed. This pleasant existence, peace- 
ful in spite of all its distractions, was not destined to last 
long. Soon a new catastrophe was to cast me upon a sea 
of troubles to which I had hitherto been a stranger. 

On the eve of my wedding, Dr. Werner, who on Mr. 
Kaiser's death had been appointed my guardian, told me 
that the control of my fortune would be in my husband's 
hands, as I was still a minor. At the period I knew little 
about business — so little, indeed, that I considered it bad 
taste for a girl to think of money matters. 

I have been asked frequently since whether there was 
not a marriage-contract between my husband and myself. 
There was none; but at that time I had no idea how its 
absence could affect my interests, nor even that such things 
existed. 

I therefore gave my husband full powers. I knew that 
the proceeds of my fortune would suffice amply for our 
needs, and that was all I asked. I admit that this aloof- 
ness from the practical side of life indicated in me a cer- 
tain tendency toward frivolity, for which my youth (I 
was scarcely more than twenty) was but a poor excuse. 
The blow was all the more brutally cruel when my hus- 
band confessed to me, one fine day, that he had been spec- 
ulating for several months past and had lost almost all 
that we possessed. His fault was all the more unpardon- 
able because our income was fully sufficient. For the mo- 
ment I could not see the consequences of so grave a mis- 
take; but they were brought home to me vividly when I 
was compelled to give up our expensive social activities, 
and even to go without necessities. 

Later I came to understand, although the truth only 
dawned upon me gradually, that this new blow was dealt 

251 



me by the same pitiless enemies to whom I owed so much. 
My relations with the Polish party had aroused the sus- 
picions of the Court. No doubt it was feared that I might 
create for myself a party in Austria, and that the weak- 
ness of my husband might enable me so to dominate him 
that, instead of thwarting my plans, he would range him- 
self on my side. So little wisdom had he, alas! that he 
had no idea that a trap was laid for him. Unfortunately, 
he even thought himself a clever diplomatist, and often 
his vain desire of making an effect led him to pass the 
bounds of prudence in his speech. Perhaps, with the in- 
tention of securing some tactical advantage, as it appeared 
to him, he let slip something of which the echo speedily 
reached our enemies and threw them into a state of alarm. 
So it was decided at Court that I must be completely 
crushed ; the Austrian Court has exceedingly few scruples 
in such matters. 

They knew that if I were ruined and penniless I should 
at once lose all support. They were perfectly well ac- 
quainted with my husband's character. His vanity, 
which made him consider himself more intelligent and 
stronger than anyone else, was cleverly played upon to 
lead him toward the temptation of speculation. He was 
given to understand that by speculation he might gain 
for himself a fortune sufficient to render him independent 
of his wife's. I have never been able to discover the 
names of the people who enticed him along the dangerous 
road. My husband was one of the least expansive of 
men; he never spoke open-heartedly to me, and on this 
subject above all others he pretended to wish to avoid 
tedious explanations. 

A short while before the catastrophe my husband had 
bought a farm in the neighbourhood of Vienna, called j 
Kleinhart. This was now almost the only property which] 
was left to us. He had not, however, told me about the 
purchase until the bargain had been completed, and it 
had been made in his name, not mine. The whole prop- 
erty was in a lamentable state of disrepair. Still it of- 
fered us a last refuge, and as it was in close proximity to 

252 



Vienna, we could live there all the year round, while my 
husband could at the same time go to his office every day. 

At the first start, therefore, our situation did not seem 
entirely desperate. But we were not allowed to cherish 
such illusions long. Of course we had had no prepara- 
tion for country life, and to put this tumble-down place 
in a proper state would have needed hard work on the 
part of a skilful and practical professional. My hus- 
band again thought, in the new circumstances, that he had 
the necessary ability ; and, as by law the property belonged 
to him, I found myself perfectly helpless to correct by 
any good sense that I had the wild ideas he held about the 
restoration of a country estate. I must add that I was 
scarcely in a condition to enforce my views, for I was in a 
delicate state of health. 

On December 6th, 1904, my little daughter Elisabeth- 
Marie- Christine saw the light of day. Poor child, she 
was not welcomed with cries of joy like her brother. No 
one congratulated us upon her entry into the world. Not 
a single mark of sympathy or attention came to us from 
the brilliant society which so soon forgets those who have 
ceased to shine. My maternal love, however, was all the 
greater through my pity and indignation at this neglect. 

Our position daily grew worse. For a whole year we 
struggled in vain to recover ourselves. My husband 
made blunder after blunder. Such gross stupidity and 
such inability to learn might seem beyond belief; but they 
were, nevertheless, the causes of our final ruin. Any 
small peasant could get the better of him, and he rapidly 
earned over the countryside the reputation of a man whom 
anyone could take in. Soon he was loaded with debts. 
Not having the courage and energy to face the situation, 
he pretended to be ill and went to spend the winter at 
Abbazzia, on the Adriatic coast, leaving me alone with our 
troubles. The task was beyond my strength, and every 
day I had to put up with cruel humiliations. At length 
it became impossible for us to stay in Austria. Besides, 
my husband was neglecting his official duties, and must 
now give up all hopes of a brilliant career. Nothing re- 

253 



mained for us, therefore, but to quit our native land — 
to quit that land which for so many years had been for me 
a vale of tears, to escape from which was my sole desire. 

In May, 1906, we left for Canada with our two chil- 
dren, and their nurse, Fanny Latzlsperger. 

I allowed myself to cherish the fond hope that there, 
in totally new surroundings, escaping from the worry of 
our debts and shaking off the conventions which in Aus- 
tria forced us to continue ruinous expenses in order to 
keep up appearances to the end, my husband might sum- 
mon back his courage and with renewed energy might 
provide for his family, in however modest a way. As for 
myself, I would not shrink from the necessity of working 
if this were to be the price of regaining ease and happiness 
in our home. 

So as to avoid useless waste of money, we settled down 
in the neighbourhood of Montreal, at Sault-au-Recollet, 
where living was cheaper than in the midst of a city. But 
before long affairs moved in a way that looked ill for the 
revolution in Fortune's wheel for which I hoped. My 
husband, who had obtained a post as interpreter with the 
Canadian Pacific Railway Company sufficing for our 
modest needs, left it at the end of a few months to embark 
upon the precarious career of a company promoter. He 
dreamt of vast speculations, and wanted to float powerful 
companies, in which he never succeeded because he never 
had the smallest capital to start them on. All the while 
I saw gradually melting away our last poor reserve of 
money. 

This went on for a year. Thanks to my never-ceasing 
efforts, and by making sacrifices which were most painful 
to me, I had for six years maintained appearances be- 
tween us; for I wished above all, as a mother, that my 
children might have peace at home if they had no other 
joys. But now I saw myself faced by incalculable mis- 
eries if I did not take some step at once. My love of my 
children drove me no longer to preserve their father for 
them, but to save them from his hateful treatment. He 
had, in fact, grown brutal towards them, showing so little 

254 



feeling for them that at last he could not bear to have them 
near him. As for me, he would have treated me as a total 
stranger in the end, had he not seen the advantage of look- 
ing on me rather as a faithful servant. 

His outrageous attitude became so manifest that I un- 
derstood that he had taken it up intentionally to drive me 
to the point of seeking a separation. Or did he, perhaps, 
look forward to some more tragic solution? Whatever 
his idea, he fell in at once with a suggestion which I made 
to him, that we should each go our own way. He was to 
pursue fortune on his own account, I must look after my 
children's welfare with my own. 

He left for New York on March 25th, 1908. As for 
me, in the company of the faithful Fanny Latzlsperger, 
who refused to leave the children, I went to British Co- 
lumbia, and settled in Vancouver, a city then only in its 
infancy as regards time, but already in the full tide of 
prosperity. j 

At this supreme crisis of my fate, when it appeared as 
if I must have touched the very bedrock of misery, a new 
harvest of young hopes sprang up within me. For the 
first time after so many years of moral oppression, I felt 
myself delivered from the fetters of wretchedness and 
falsehood which had crushed my soul, and before me there 
seemed about to open a future bright with happiness. 

It was at first, however, a very difficult task to provide 
for the material support of the four of us. It required, 
if I may say so without unduly praising myself, an en- 
ergy rare in women, and a courage hard for anyone to 
muster. In America, it is true, and especially out West, 
it is thought no shame to be obliged to work for a liveli- 
hood after having been accustomed to ease. Misery does 
not exist for those who have the will to work. The first 
months were painful, I admit. Many were the times 
when I called back to mind that sewing-school, when amid 
all the poor little daughters of the people I seemed to my- 
self to be merely diverting myself with their toil, just as 
one plays at soldiers. But nevertheless it was that little 
game of soldiers which had taught me the way to extri- 

255 



cate myself now from what was in reality a terrible bat- 
tle. It was truly some miraculous force which increased 
my strength. I had a comforting assurance that I was 
preparing the way for my decisive triumph, and that fate 
had only been so harsh to me to make certain the path 
of my future. 

To-day, when the picture of my trials comes back to 
my memory, it has lost much of its cruel vividness, and 
to realise it I should be forced to live again in the same 
atmosphere which was then about me. In that country, 
seven years ago especially, it was impossible for a woman 
to earn her bread by sewing. On the other hand, at this 
time of the year — it was spring — it was no good to 
think of teaching. So it was by no means easy to see 
what to do. I had thought of hiring a house and sub- 
letting the rooms; but I soon had to renounce this idea, 
. for I could not find a house and was glad to get rooms for 
myself. I therefore resigned myself to taking a situation 
as cook at the Yale Hotel, so as not to have to spend more 
of the little money still left to me. After a short time, 
when I felt myself more secure, I opened a small shop 
for the sale of Viennese confectionery. Even in the Far 
West the , epicures can appreciate confectionery of this 
kind. 

In my circumstances my faithful Fanny was a very 
great help to me, and I can honestly say that but for her 
my life would have been infinitely harder. As it was, our 
affairs went on better and better, and at the end of a few 
months I was able to sell my little business at a good 
price, which was all pure gain to me. This money was 
the starting-point of the new fortune which I built up dur- 
ing these years, thanks to lucky speculations in land, while 
I provided for the daily needs of the household by giving 
lessons in languages and the piano. 

This was certainly a time of hard toil. But it is the 
period of my life upon which I look back with the great- 
est satisfaction, not to say pride. It was then that I 
learnt to have confidence in myself. It was then that I 
came in closest contact with the realities of life, of which 

256 



I knew little up to then, and few women in my sphere can 
ever know. And it was then, perhaps, that I developed 
those fighting qualities which, helped by the serious in- 
struction which was given to me in childhood, will make 
of me one day, I hope, a fearless champion of the rights 
of the poor oppressed, the counsellor of those who have 
need of help. 

My husband went back to Vienna few months after 
our separation. As he had quitted his post under gov- 
ernment at the moment of our departure for America 
without taking leave of his superior, his name had been 
crossed off the official list. Nevertheless, on his return 
he was at once reinstated, and a very short time after- 
wards he came in for a promotion which, to say the least 
of it, was unexpected. 

In conformity with the rules of military discipline, my 
husband should have asked for permission to leave his 
regiment. This he failed to do, and, having made no 
reply to the reiterated demands of the Austrian consul at 
Montreal, he had been proclaimed a deserter. In spite 
of this, on his return, instead of being visited with some 
punishment as anyone else would have been, he was im- 
mediately restored to his regiment with the rank of lieu- 
tenant, and even had the rare privilege of being received 
in audience by the Emperor. How can I help being con- 
firmed, by this paradoxical treatment of my husband, in 
the certainty that his conduct, though apparently as free 
as it was blameworthy, was in reality but the result of his 
blind obedience to orders received from those over him, 
and that he was in some measure no more than the docile 
instrument of a concerted plan to ruin me? Was he 
therefore rewarded for having executed his task so well? 
However that may be, he certainly never again troubled 
himself about my children or me. 

Months passed by. I made in Vancouver some excel- 
lent acquaintances, who gradually extended my circle. 
As Vancouver was at this time a town of not more than 
eighty thousand inhabitants, the better people in society 
there were not so numerous that an addition to their ranks 

257 



ran any risk of being overlooked. In this milieu I re- 
ceived general consideration — although, of course, my 
true identity was unknown. It was now that I met him 
who was destined to become my second husband, the 
Count Zanardi Landi, who from the first moment showed 
himself a most devoted friend to me. He was truly the 
personification of the good fortune of my life. As brave 
as he was energetic, he came to be for me the sure counsel- 
lor whom I had always wanted. It was he who first made 
it plain to me that since I had children I was not entitled 
to renounce my rights, for one day when it would be too 
late, they would be justified in reproaching me bitterly for 
my neglect of my claims. 

Besides, he argued, would my mother have wished me 
to act thus? Had she dreamed for me of such a life as I 
was leading, in obscurity and almost in unhappiness? 
Surely respect for her memory must inspire me with 
firmer resolution. I must try to inform my nearest rela- 
tives of my existence and acquaint them to what a level 
I had been reduced. I must enlighten the ignorance in 
which they had been kept concerning me. 

Consequently I decided first of all to write to the Em- 
peror. I addressed to him a letter dated October, 1908, 
sending it under care of his private cabinet, and accom- 
panyipg it with a portrait of myself. I took the precau- 
tion of requesting the private cabinet to put my letter be- 
fore the Emperor himself. 

I received no reply — as indeed I had anticipated. An- 
other urgent letter written by Count Zanardi Landi in 
the December of the same year was equally left unan- 
swered; as was one which I sent in March, 1909, to my 
sister the Archduchess Marie-Valerie. As it was re- 
ported that any letter addressed to the German Emperor 
was bound to reach him, I took on myself to write to him 
in the following September. I was not unaware, I may 
say, that all these attempts at correspondence would be 
without result. What could I hope with such feeble re- 
sources as I had at my command? I was only too well 
acquainted with the ways of Courts ; but I wished, in act- 

258 



ing as I did, to salve my conscience, so that it might not 
be said against me that I had failed to take the necessary 
steps. 

I could not yet dream of proceeding to more drastic 
and vigorous action. My lawyer, one of the best known 
in Canada, advised me to avoid all scandal before obtain- 
ing a divorce which should give me the custody of my 
children. I could indeed easily be reduced to silence by 
the mere threat of taking them away from me. Canadian 
law being the same as English, and very strict as regards 
divorce, I had recourse to the United States. But the 
divorce, which secured to me the custody of the children, 
could not guarantee that this would remain mine in Can- 
ada or in Austria. I had now, however, the right to take 
Count Zanardi Landi as my second husband. I spent 
over a year on these proceedings without obtaining my 
great object, which was to give me absolutely and irrevo- 
cably the possession of my children, who alone made my 
life of any value. There remained but one way open to 
me. Since in Austria recognition would be refused to 
the divorce obtained in the United States, I could only 
demand of the Austrian authorities that they should ar- 
range a divorce in what manner they might think fitting. 
But after a year of negotiation through the medium of 
correspondence, we were convinced that I should get noth- 
ing so long as I did not go to Austria myself. At first 
this step was very distasteful to me. I found myself on 
the horns of a painful dilemma. Either I must part from 
my children during my visit to Europe, or I must expose 
them to great dangers if I took them to Austria with me. 

I therefore made up my mind to go without them, my 
dear, good Fanny assuring me that they should be as well 
looked after as if I stayed with them myself. 

On July 15th, 1911, I started on my journey, accompa- 
nied by my second husband, whose protection inspired me 
with abundance of courage. Yet what grief I felt at the 
moment of departure! Since my litle ones had come into 
the world there had never been a separation between them 
and me — and now I was going so far and for so long. 

259 



Only a mother can really understand the pang. But 
anyone who realises that for years I had consecrated my 
life to providing for them, and that my sole thought was 
their future happiness, can perhaps form some idea of 
the state of my mind when I left them to go to the other 
end of the world in pursuance of my duty as a mother. 

We reached London on August 1st, and made a stay of 
three weeks there, because there was nothing useful to be 
done in Vienna at a time of general holiday. From Lon- 
don we went on to Paris, and from there to Munich, where 
we arrived on August 28th. 

We proposed to stay for some time in Munich, whence 
we might make excursions round the Lake of Starnberg. 
On the very day after our arrival we went to Feldaflng. 
I was eager to see the place where my poor mother had 
spent so many of her summers, where she had experi- 
enced such deep joy and had also suffered so terribly. 
We had only meant to stay one day at Feldafing, but an 
unforeseen circumstance kept us there longer. By a co- 
incidence which we had not had the slightest reason for 
anticipating, at the hotel to which we went, the Hotel 
Kaiserin Elisabeth, there was staying Queen Marie- 
Sophie of Naples, my mother's sister. I felt that it was 
incumbent on me to take full advantage of so favourable 
an opportunity. Wishing to act with perfect correctness, 
I thought that I must write in the first place to her sec- 
retary, M. Barcelona. I begged him to some and see me, 
wishing to have an interview with him. He replied to 
me as follows: 

Feldafing, 6, 9, 11. 

Madam, 

I have just received your letter, and I hasten to pre- 
sent my excuses if I cannot pay you a visit. 

Her Majesty lives in great privacy, and is here in- 
cognita, and I too, in consequence, am unable to visit 
anyone. 

Please accept the assurance of my profound respect. 
Your devoted servant. 

Barcelona. 

260 



This answer showed me that I had done wrong not to 
retary, M. Barcelona. I begged him to come and see me, 
therefore, to involve no loss of dignity if I explained to 
him in a second letter that I had only desired to see him 
because I wished to ask of Her Majesty, through him, 
the favour of being received by her, being the daughter of 
Ja great friend of hers. This was his reply to my second 
letter : 

Madam, 

I duly submitted to Her Majesty your request, but 
the illustrious lady receives nobody whom she does not 
know and can make no exception to this rule. Iregret, 
Madam, that I cannot render you this service and beg you 
Jo believe that I am 

Your devoted servant, 

Barcelona. 

This M. Barcelona was a man of no extraction, who 
gave himself airs nevertheless. He took upon himself, 
as I discovered later, to refuse my request without even 
submitting it to his sovereign. 

I might easily have approached my aunt in the course 
|>f one of the many walks which she took all alone; but 
any pride prevented me. I therefore decided to write to 
her direct. On the morning of September 8th, while she 
was engaged on the finishing touches of her toilet, I gave 
my letter to her second valet, Marsala. Slipping a 
twenty-mark piece into his hand, I begged him to take the 
letter at once to its destination, which he did, under my 
eyes. I watched him enter straight into the bedroom of 
the Queen, who was seated in front of her toilet-table. 

I waited all day long and the following day without 
receiving an answer. I imagined that my fond relative 
might be afraid that I was in distressed circumstances 
and that my approach to her was made with the object 
pf begging for pecuniary assistance from her. In my 
very brief note I had simply asked her whether she was 
aware of my existence and whether she would allow me 

261 



to speak to her. I wrote her a new letter, in which after 
assuring her of my absolute disinterestedness I requested 
no other favour than to be allowed to kiss the hand of the 
sister of my much lamented mother. 

I sent this second letter to her through the same me- 
dium as the first. The date was September 10th. On 
the previous evening I had been to see the parish priest 
of Feldafing to ask him to have a Requiem mass sung on 
the anniversary of the death of the Empress of Austria. 
He stated that the 10th being a Sunday, he could not 
have the Requiem mass before the 11th; and he added that 
in deference to the sister of the deceased he must discover 
whether she had not herself the intention of taking this 
pious step. 

On the night of the 10th, about nine o'clock, my aunt 
sent for me to come to her rooms. I had been so much 
on the watch all the day long that I was not particularly 
surprised when Marsala the valet knocked at my door to 
ask me to come at so late an hour. 

As my bedroom was quite near the Queen's — she being 
in No. 8 and I in No. 9 — it was perfectly easy for me to 
slip into hers without being seen. 

The first few minutes of the interview were marked by 
an embarrassment which can be readily understood. I 
strove to repress my deep emotion, while the Queen, to 
hide hers, was extremely reserved in her manner. Never- 
theless there was something about her which strangely 
recalled my poor mother. My aunt's behaviour, appear- 
ing to me a true family characteristic, instead of upsetting 
me, had quite the opposite effect, and even attracted me. 
Still I hid my real feelings, not wishing to be the first to 
abandon my reserve. In my opinion there is nothing in 
the world more tiresome than that somebody, who is quite 
ignorant of your sentiments, should overwhelm you with 
professions of friendship and urge upon you the claims 
of relationship. So I waited for my aunt to address the 
first word to me. 

Soon she said, refraining from either using my name or 
calling me simply Madam: "I have received your let- 

262 



ters, which, I must confess, have disconcerted me, for the 
person you claim to be is supposed to be no longer alive." 

Her remarks, though they indicated in so brief a com- 
pass so strong a distrust in me, failed to abash me. Did 
they not show, after all, that she had been aware of my 
existence? The sudden profound satisfaction caused by 
this sent a rush of blood to my head. 

" If your Majesty will only deign to listen to me," I 
answered calmly, " I believe it will not be difficult to prove 
toy identity and to convince your Majesty thoroughly that 
they deceived you when they said that the Empress Elisa- 
beth's daughter was dead." 

With a gesture of her hand she pointed out a chair 
to me. 

I began by asking whether she knew any details of my 
life, since she seemed to know that I existed. She an- 
swered with an affirmative nod of her head. Then, to 
discover down to what point she had been able to follow 
me, I asked whether she knew that I was married and had 
two children. 

She gave another nod of her head, accompanied by a 
benevolent smile, which she could not repress. From that 
moment the ice was broken. I plucked up my courage 
and told her all. 

She was soon convinced that it would have been im- 
possible for me, unless I were really her niece, to recall to 
her so many minute details and mention so many circum- 
stances that only her sister's daughter could know. 

She knew that my husband had caused my ruin and 
that we had left with our children for Canada. But there 
her knowledge of my history ceased, for she had been 
told that out there I had soon succumbed to a dangerous 
disease of the throat. It must be confessed that while she 
knew me to be alive she had never manifested much in- 
terest in me; but I was perfectly well aware how difficult 
^it was for her to do anything against the express desire of 
the Court, and on behalf of a niece with whom she was, 
jafter all, unacquainted. 

I had my children's pictures upon me, and I showed 

263 



them to her. She was struck by my little girl's resem 
blance to my poor mother, and by the Habsburg expres 
sion on my little boy's face. 

I told her finally about my second marriage, and what 
a faithful friend, what a brave champion I had gained 
by it. 

Before taking my leave of her I spoke to her about the 
Requiem service for the next day, and she promised to 
be present at it or at least to come to the church immedi- 
ately after it. Then as I was about to depart she 
stretched out her hands to me, and, with a smile full of 
amiability, drew me towards her to embrace me. ' Until 
to-morrow!" she murmured as she led me to the door 
making a great effort to restrain the emotion which she 
was evidently feeling. 

Next day, just at the moment when, in despair of see- 
ing her, we were going toward the holy water basin 
few minutes after the end of the service, she entered the 
church. Holding out her hand to me she requested m 
to present to her Count Zanardi Landi, who had remaine 
a little distance away. She spoke to him in Italian, hav-j 
ing a marked preference for this language, it seemed 
She thanked him for all he had done for her niece and| 
bade us adieu, like a good Catholic, with the words:! 
" May God bless you, and grant that you may soon bej 
united in His sight too! " 

On the evenings that followed I went to see her again) 
in her room. She did not for the present wish our meet-j 
ings to be observed, so that it was like a charming renewal 
of the long hours I used to spend in secret with my mother 
in the hotels where we stopped, when, after all her suite 
had retired, I had crept into her bedroom. 

The Queen slept very little, not going to bed before 
one o'clock, and getting up again at six. 

Several days passed thus. Every night we made an apj 
pointment for the next day. I need not tell that this 
sweet friendship was a delight to me. The Queen tolq 
me after the second evening to drop the formal " You J 
Majesty," and call her simply " Aunt," and she always 

264 



addressed me affectionately by my name. Without my 
asking her to do so, she informed me that she had at once 
taken steps to have my position regularised; and she said 
she hoped for a prompt result, for she could not believe 
that the Imperial family would refuse to do anything for 
one of its own members when it knew the circumstances 
of the case. 

On the morning of September 15th there was brought 
to me the visiting-card of the parish priest of Feldaling, 
on which was written: " The Xtev. Karl Kolb, while re- 
turning his best thanks for the forty marks, begs to 
request Madame to call and see him to-day, if possible, at 
two in the afternoon, to receive an important communica- 
tion." 

That same morning the proprietor of the hotel in- 
formed me that Her Majesty's secretary begged me not 
to insist on being received by her as she could see no one 
at all. As the secretary was totally ignorant, like the 
rest of my aunt's suite (with the exception of Marsala), 
of our secret interviews, I could only suppose that he 
had sent this message, in its discourteous form, in order 
to increase his own importance. In any case it was not 
permitted to me to discover his real motive, as I never 
saw my aunt again. 

In the afternoon I went to the Abbe Kolb's and found 
that what he wished to communicate to me was this. The 
Queen had charged him to beg me to leave Feldafing as 
soon as possible, if I wished to spare her grave annoyance. 
She had received the answer to the effort which she had 
made on my behalf ; and this in laconic fashion ordered her 
not to interfere in matters with which she had no concern. 
He had been asked to express the very profound regret 
which such an ending to the affair had caused her; but I 
must know how dependent she was upon the persons whose 
help she had solicited on my behalf, and how powerless 
she was without this help. She gave me her blessings 
and prayed earnestly that I might succeed in spite of all 
opposition. 

Once more my hopes faded away. I must state that, 

265 



notwithstanding this great disappointment, I never 
dreamt for a single instant of blaming my old aunt or of 
entertaining the least resentment against her. I was ab- 
solutely sure that in the circumstances in which she was 
placed she had acted with the best intentions possible. 
Yet I was none the less brought to despair, I confess. 
During those few days I had been living again in the 
atmosphere of my past existence, to which I had not even 
had the wish to return. What had spurred me on to act 
was the thought of establishing my children's rights, for 
personally I had long abandoned all ideas of re-establish- 
ing my rights and only wished for peace. It would not 
have been without a certain pride, indeed, that I should 
have enjoyed a freedom won by my own strength and 
resolution, after having had such great difficulty in over- 
coming the weaknesses of my heart. But there had been 
a reawakening in me of lawful ambitions. My interviews 
with my aunt had taken me back to the world in which I 
had been born and for which I had been trained. I had 
been treated for some days with the consideration to which 
my origin gave me a right. 

And now suddenly I realized the inflexible laws govern- 
ing the fate of all, against which no human will can fight. 
I saw with the utmost clearness that the independence 
which I had so fondly imagined that I had secured for 
myself would never actually be mine. How like a human 
being is to a plant, which one may tear up from the soil 
that bears and nourishes it, but, transplanting it to some 
foreign soil, finds that it cannot become acclimatised. 
Just so an imperial princess, bearing in the cradle the 
burden of her rank, is bound by all the fibres of her being 
to the traditions of centuries, which not even the most 
democratic education can efface. It is in her blood, her 
whole soul is steeped in it. It is a useless struggle to try 
to become merely the same as the rest of the world. At a 
crisis there will always be some little weakness which will 
overmaster her, from which there is no possible escape. 

I knew now for how little counted my desire for inde- 
pendence and calm resignation. I understood that it 

266 



would never be possible for me to renounce all finally, and 
the revelation affected me considerably — though, of 
course, I could not altogether complain of my lot, having 
a faithful companion to console and protect me, a hus- 
band who cherished me tenderly and was attentive to the 
least of my wishes. 

On the day after my interview with the priest, Septem- 
ber 16th, we left Feldafing. My pride rightly prevented 
me from making any attempt to see my aunt again. 

"My divorce in Austria was fixed for the month of Octo- 
bt . With an anguish impossible to realize I set out for 
Vienna. Was I not putting my head in the lion's mouth? 
I was playing a game in which my own person was at 
stake, and my children were the prize. The journey 
across Austria was a prolonged agony. I saw a spy in 
every fellow-passenger, and every glance thrown my way 
made me suspect that I was specially watched. Then in 
Vienna, at the law-courts, when I had to give my name 
and address, my heart was wrung. But there was not the 
slightest hitch. On October 21st the divorce was decreed, 
leaving the children entirely mine. 

I stayed ten days longer in Vienna. I now felt more 
at ease. After all that had passed, the letters I had writ- 
ten, and the adventure at Feldafing, I had come to the 
conclusion that no attempt would be made against my 
person for fear of a scandal. I met some good friends of 
old times, to whom I had not ventured to confide my 
troubles, but who now told me that they had been quite 
aware of them, and had even guessed the secret of the 
mystery which enveloped me during the Empress's life- 
time. Belonging to Court society, they had felt bound by 
prudence to hold their peace. Now they protested their 
absolute devotion to my cause, and undertook to form a 
party at Court to uphold me. 

I must be allowed to make an exception, in the case 
of these friends, to the rule which I have hitherto followed, 
and to withold their names, as otherwise I should ruin 
them irretrievably. The gratitude and the admiration 
which I feel for their noble spirit of justice are so keen 

267 



that, in spite of any personal benefit which I might get by 
naming them, I must be silent for their sakes. 

All the while they were making their brave endeavours 
they were under the greatest apprehensions about my 
safety. Yielding to their urgent entreaties, I resolved 
to leave Vienna, and took my departure on November 
2nd. As they thought my husband's assistance abso- 
lutely indispensable for some time still, and, on the other 
hand, did not consider it prudent to let me travel in the 
sole company of a maid, they arranged that I should be 
escorted by a young couple, an officer and his wife, who 
agreed to be responsible for me, though the cost to them 
might be nothing less than the impossibility of ever going 
back to Austria again. I stopped for a short while at 
Tann, in Bavaria, at the house of my good Fanny's 
mother. Here at least, in Europe, I had a home. Nat- 
urally, I wished to avoid all hotels. 

While I was at Tann my friends were not sleeping. 
After careful deliberation they arrived at the conclusion 
that, above all, we must have the opinion of a good Vien- 
nese lawyer if we would be safe. The man selected was 
Dr. Walther Rode, who declared that nothing could be 
done without a personal interview with me. It was 
therefore settled that we should meet on November 7th, 
1911, at the Park Hotel, Munich. 

The lawyer put me through a thorough cross-examina- 
tion, which was only briefly interrupted for lunch. I was 
" in the box " for nine hours, answering all his questions. 
He made no secret of the fact that his original attitude 
towards me was one of distrust. But at the end of our 
interview he rose, and, kissing my hand, he said to me: 
" Madam, I beg you to consider me henceforward one of 
your most devoted supporters. I have no doubt what- 
ever of the absolute truth of your statements and the com- 
plete justice of your cause." 

On his return to Vienna, Dr. Bode began operations. 
On November 11th, he wrote to me that my friends had 
submitted my case to the militaiy as well as the civil de- 
partments of His Majesty's private cabinet; that conse- 

268 



quently Prince Montenuovo, Grand Chamberlain to the 
Court, Baron Bolfrass, head of the military, and Baron 
Schiessl, head of the civil department, knew all; and that 
he thought that steps should be taken immediately, so 
that on Monday, the 13th, he was going to apply to the 
courts for permission to inspect the Empress's will. The 
authorities could not evade giving an answer of some kind 
to this request, without much delay, and would therefore 
be compelled to consider officially the question of my 
birth. 

In accordance with this programme Dr. Bode on 
Monday, the 13th, made his application in the proper 
quarter. The document consisted of seventeen typewrit- 
ten pages, and set forth briefly the whole of my history. 
A week passed without any visible result. Dr. Rode 
wrote to me on the 15th that on the day after the applica- 
tion Prince Montenuovo and Baron Bolfrass went to- 
gether to an audience with the Emperor, undoubtedly in 
connection with my affairs, as these two officials could not, 
of course, settle so grave a question and take on them- 
selves the responsibility for the consequences which must 
inevitably follow. 

In a second letter, dated November 18th, Dr. Bode in- 
formed me that he had made another application to the 
Minister of the Imperial Household, 1 claiming a civil 
status for me as a member of the Imperial family. One 
paragraph of this letter deserves quotation: 

" I have no doubt that, since the Court is now ac- 
quainted with this affair which had been thought buried 
for ever, everyone is in a state of utter perplexity. Be- 
sides, it is easy to understand that the head of the Im- 
perial Family, were he to recognise you, would come up 
against all kinds of obstacles; and unless he succeeded in 
overcoming his objections, no force on earth could make 
him depart from his attitude of non-recognition towards 
you. However, it should not be forgotten that his age is 
such that thoughts of the hereafter must always be pres- 
ent to his mind, and consequently one must be prepared 

1 In Austria the Minister for Foreign Affairs also fills this post. 

269 



for unforeseen results." 

Another letter from Dr. Rode, also dated the 18th, 
told me that it had been impossible for him, up to now, 
to trace my birth-certificate, although he had even gone 
so far as to search the Jewish registers in order to satisfy 
himself that I was not mentioned in them. 

So finished a week of waiting. On November 20th I 
first of all received a letter from my lawyer begging me 
to give him a second interview at Passau on the Austro- 
Bavarian frontier; and then, in the afternoon, a telegram 
saying : 

" Matters apparently taking good turn. Appoint- 
ment postponed. Letter follows." 

Next day came two letters from Dr. Rode. One, sent 
by express messenger, was very short, and informed me 
that he had had an interview with Councillor von SeideL 
The second was more detailed, and told me how he had 
been summoned to the Chancellor's office, where he had 
been received with the utmost amiability. He had talked 
with Herr von Seidel for more than an hour, and had been 
promised by him that he would get the Grand Marshal, 
Count Zichy, to receive him very shortly. " I think I 
may say," concluded Dr. Rode, " that I succeeded, with 
my application, in hitting the bull's-eye." 

It was easy to see in these letters my lawyer's enthusi- 
asm about my affairs. Noticeable also was the benevo- 
lent attitude taken up toward him by the Court, where 
it was tacitly conceded that I had a perfect right to act 
as I was doing and no one disputed my claims. 

On November 23rd, Dr. Rode was due to be received 
by Count Zichy. From this date his conduct suddenly 
changed. After having written to me almost every day, 
and sometimes twice in one day, he left me now forty- 
eight hours without any news whatever — and that when 
he knew that we were waiting most anxiously for the re- 
sult of his interview with Count Zichy. At last, at mid- 
night on the 24th, we received a telegram: 

270 



" Shall be at Passau, Bayrischer Hof Hotel, Saturday 
night, 25th." 

Next day we set out early so as to be punctual at the 
appointed spot. Dr. Rode told us that he had succeeded 
in having his interview with Count Zichy, who had begged 
him above all to maintain absolute secrecy about the af- 
fair. He himself, he had stated, had no power to give 
an official answer. This was Prince Montenuovo's duty, 
although he certainly had the right of making unofficial 
propositions. 

Count Zichy added that the Emperor was too advanced 
in age, and in too precarious health, to listen to matters 
which might grieve him seriously. But the Court — al- 
ways this anonymous, indefinable " Court " — was not 
altogether hostile to me, and, having certain funds avail- 
able, made me the offer, through my lawyer, of a million 
crowns. 

Hearing this, I felt instinctively that Dr. Rode no 
longer was actuated by my interests alone. I answered 
at once that what I claimed was not money, but my birth- 
right; that, thanks to my husband, I had no need what- 
ever of the former; and that what I ardently desired was 
to meet my family and be received by them, if only in 
private and unseen by the rest of the world. Their 
money was nothing to me. 

Dr. Rode at once raised his offer to a million and a 
half; and, impressed with the certainty that he would ob- 
tain my consent in the long run, he began to describe 
minutely the plan which must be followed to bring about, 
indirectly, a conclusion of the affair with the Court. 

My husband here gave me a secret sign to let Dr. Rode 
proceed to the end of his argument. The doctor ex- 
plained to me the solution which the Court suggested. I 
must call upon Mrs. Kaiser as a witness and demand from 
her circumstantial details about my birth, and her rela- 
tions with the Empress of Austria. Mrs. Kaiser, in 
order to avoid a great scandal, would offer me the cash, 
which the Court would refund to her. 

271 



I was careful not to express my opinion with regard 
to such a proposal. I simply told Dr. Rode that a de- 
cision of such importance required more than an hour's 
reflection, and that I would send my answer in writing 
in a few days' time. We parted, therefore, on Sunday, 
the 26th, Dr. Rode under the impression that I was about 
to fall blindly into the pit that had been dug for me, and 
I only too sure that he was no longer acting frankly and 
that I must be on my guard. Still, I did not wish to 
make an enemy of him. I wrote to him on the 27th, ex- 
plaining to him that my husband and I, seeing the affair 
growing more and more complicated, had decided after 
mature thought to avail ourselves of the help of a lawyer 
of non- Austrian nationality to second his efforts. We 
supposed that he would not take offence at this, because 
he himself, when he had first taken up the case, had 
pressed us to adopt such a course. Then, when we 
should have discussed matters with the lawyer whom we 
might select in Italy, we would communicate to Dr. Rode 
our intention of proceeding or otherwise. 

By return of post I received an answer which betrayed 
the writer's extreme uneasiness. This time the letter was 
not typed, but written entirely in Dr. Rode's own hand. 

" I am not at all offended at the idea of an Italian law- 
yer," he said; "but if you engage one, I must ask you 
kindly to dispense with my services — especially as I am 
persuaded that I am powerless. The parties in question 
will do absolutely nothing, and I should be wasting my 
time and my life in a vain and futile struggle." 

We went immediately to Italy, where I consulted sev- 
eral lawyers. All expressed identically the same opinion, 
that Dr. Rode had been constrained by the Imperial 
Court to back out of his task; but, as the object which I 
had in view was not to make money, the only advice they 
could give me was to publish the book which I now pre- 
sent to the world, so that my claims might at least come 
before the bar of public opinion. 

I proceeded at once to make arrangements for the issue 

272 



of an Italian version of my story. A prominent pub- 
lisher, who had brought out books for the members of the 
Italian royal family, undertook the task, agreeing to se- 
cure publication in France also. The affair seemed well 
on its way, when, in February, 1913, only a few days be- 
fore the printers had completed their work, the Italian 
government stepped in and confiscated the plates, proofs, 
and all. 

I had meanwhile gone to London again, and had 
settled in a house there. When I discovered that my 
speedy return to Canada would be impossible, I had sent 
over for my faithful Fanny to bring the two children to 
me in London, where they arrived in August, 1912. 2 It 
was in London, in the following February, that the news 
of the Italian government's action reached me. Immedi- 
ately afterwards I learnt that the French publication had 
also fallen through. The serial and book rights had both 
been placed with the same firm in Paris, which now, 
though the French version had been made and set up by 
the printers, decided not to publish it. I know the sum 
— forty thousand francs — which was paid to secure the 
book's suppression in France. With regard to what hap- 
pened in Italy, my husband in the previous November had 
seen Cardinal Rampolla, with whom he had discussed 
matters for two whole hours; and we heard through the 
publisher that it was the Vatican which made the first 
move for the suppression'of the Italian version, acting no 
doubt on behalf of the Austrian government. 

The Italian publisher, owing to his business connection 
with members of the royal family, could not say much in 
the way of protest. The newspapers did not fail to re- 
port the affair and to remark on the illegality of the sup- 
pression ; but somehow they were induced to let the matter 
drop. 

2 1 may mention that in London Fanny was approached by Austrian 
agents, who endeavoured to induce her to purloin documents from me or to 
betray my confidence in other ways; but all in vain. The poor woman was 
killed on February 27th, 1913, near the Marble Arch, being run over by a 
motor-car while out with the two children, who escaped as though by a 
miracle. Some of my readers will no doubt remember seeing the incident 
recorded in the newspapers at the time. 

273 



I was therefore foiled in my attempt to make my story 
known to the world either in Italian or in French. I 
knew that German publication was impossible, except 
through the medium of some Swiss publisher, when ex- 
portation of the work across the frontier could be stopped. 
I decided to make my appeal in the English language, 
being anxious, moreover, to reach the great public of Eng- 
land and America. 

Thanks to my own exertions, thanks to the assistance 
of disinterested friends, and thanks to the man who has 
grown to be a fond father to my son and daughter, I have 
at last come to see the day when my book will be in the 
hands of the reading public, which will be, I am sure, an 
impartial judge towards me and a generous protector to 
my children. 



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